Second Chances
by Lanna1
Summary: Voyager becomes the center of an inter-dimensional battle when two alternate versions of Tom Paris appear onboard the starship. Season 7 after Lineage.


Second Chances   
By Lanna (liztai@hotmail.com)  
Codes: P, All  
Summary: Voyager becomes the center of an inter-dimensional battle when   
two alternate versions of Tom Paris appear onboard the starship. Takes   
place after Season 7's "Drive".  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters on Voyager. This story was written  
because I love the show, not because I want to make a buck.  
  
Notes: Some spoilers for Jeri Taylor's novel, "Pathways". No, make it   
*lots* of spoilers. You will need to read my AU story "Assassin" first   
to understand one of the characters - You can get the story here:   
http://www.geocities.com/lanna2.geo/assasin.txt. Try not to skip this   
step as it'll enhance this story further.   
  
Recently, I discovered that Lisa A. Browning wrote a story with the same title.   
This was a mere coincidence, and after much thought (and after trying   
fruitlessly to come up with another title), I decided to stick with this one. As   
you read the story, you'd understand why. Thanks to Sian for her careful  
corrections, wise remarks and great patience! Thanks a mil! And of course I love feedback -   
write to me at liztai@hotmail.com. Chiao!  
  
__________________  
Prologue  
  
Dimension 14790  
Shima Territory,  
Rugad Arilius.  
  
  
  
He lit his chuntpah.   
Beneath his hood, the smoke wafted out, temporarily masking the   
putrid odour of rotten foodstuffs left at the side of the roads. Rain   
had pounded the Shima Territory relentlessly these past weeks, and it   
had only let up yesterday, leaving the streets muddy.  
Cold blue eyes accessed the Romulan general dispassionately,   
watching out for weaknesses - they noticed a slight limp on the left   
leg and a tendency to favour the left hand for tasks. Also, the general   
did not go anywhere without an escort. And that escort was a very   
capable Tal Shiar agent.  
Anger simmered in his eyes.   
Petty squabbles among Romulan ranks were a waste of his time and   
talents. But his employer thought that a hired assassin would be better   
than a hired hand from the Romulan empire. Untraceable, they thought.  
Perhaps, if his patience ran thin, he would leave some traces for   
these backstabbing Romulans to find. The Tal Shiar would be very   
interested to know that Praetor Zoles was intent on murdering the Right   
Hand of the Romulan Empress.  
It was a foolish wish and a potentially deadly move for the   
Praetor. However, Zoles was intent on winning the Empress' favour, and   
without General Vitak in the way, he would do anything - even risk   
death.  
On schedule, he noticed the Tal Shiar escort stumble and look   
bewildered; then pained. He clutched his stomach and looked ashamed as   
he whispered something in the General's ear.  
General Vitak frowned in anger and whispered something harshly to   
the agent, which in turn made the agent blush a deep green.  
Something wrong, Tal Shiar? A little upset tummy, maybe?  
The mild poison that he had released into the agent's room was   
potent enough to cause acute pain. A lesser Romulan would have been   
rolling on the floor in agony by now - but the Tal Shiar had trained   
the agent well. At least, well enough to mask acute agony.   
Both Romulans turned back, following the trail that would lead   
them to their official residence on this Romulan protectorate planet.   
There, the Tal Shiar agent would leave the general for a moment, a   
chance for *him* to do his job.  
He walked quietly behind them, pulling his muddied cloak around   
him. When the Tal Shiar agent looked back suspiciously, he turned down   
an alley. The maneuver would have made the Tal Shiar agent more   
suspicious, and if he was as good as they reported him to be - he would   
follow their shadow, corner it and rid them of the nuisance. But the   
Tal Shiar agent was in poor condition and would not risk a fight.  
He counted on that.  
As he rounded the corner that would bring him to the Praetor's   
temporary residence, he heard something that he never imagined he would   
hear again.  
"Tom Paris," called a voice.  
Only his induction into the ways of the Sharbokh, the ancient   
guild of Romulan Assassins, prevented him from freezing and turning   
around. Instead, he continued his normal pace. Only his hand sneaked   
into his cloak pocket to remove a concealed laser blade.  
"Tom Paris."  
This time, he stopped in shock.  
The voice was *too* close, as if whispered into his ear.  
He recoiled, but it was only a fraction of a second later that he   
struck out with the activated weapon to slice the neck of the intruder.  
The blade met nothing.  
His eyes widened and he whirled to the front, his pose defensive.   
The one that called his name stood before him, studying him with golden   
eyes.   
The alien's skin was an ebony so deep that it seem to absorb   
light. It wore a black cloak that trailed on the muddy floor, but   
strangely enough, he realized, the alien was not wet from the rain, nor   
was his cloak stained from the mud.  
The golden eyes flickererd in the dim evening light. They seemed   
to glow.  
"I have come to ease your pain," the alien said, its voice deep   
and resonant. It reached out a hand.   
Tom knew better than to sit back and wait. With a flick of his   
hand, he threw the blade at the creature's neck. The weapon sank into   
the alien's throat with a wet sound, slowed before emerging from the   
other side to land heavily on the muddy ground below. The hole in the   
alien's neck began to close.  
Tom could only stare in shock as the wound began to seal as the   
alien stood there, not bleeding, still breathing.  
"Do not fight," it chastised. "I have come to correct the   
failure," it replied. Then the hand touched his forehead.  
Tom wanted to flinch away, strike the creature, but he could not   
move. Paralysing pain gripped his body and he began to shake.   
Then there was a bright light, and everything went away.  
  
  
___________________  
Chapter 1  
  
  
Dimension 20895  
Marseilles, France.  
Earth.  
  
  
Moira Paris hated the bar, so she had to remind herself why she   
was here, and how important it was to her.  
No. Not to me. To Tom. It's important for Tom.  
The rough and scruffy customers of the bar studied her with mild   
curiosity. Most were nursing a drink. Moira Paris certainly looked out   
of place in this establishment; what with her elegant white pant suite   
and her straight, long blonde hair in a neat ponytail. Tom had once   
described her colourfully: "a classy lady that would make a seedy hovel   
cry out in shame". This hovel was screaming now. She did not understand   
why Tom would want to stay *here*.   
She brushed a stray lock from her eyes and scanned the room   
anxiously, hoping he would be here.  
She had searched for him for so long. If not for the sporadic   
messages their mother received, they couldn't be sure if Tom was dead   
or alive. Then six months ago, the messages stopped. Moira and Kathleen   
had pleaded to their father to do something, anything. After all, they   
had argued, he was a Starfleet Admiral. He could pull strings, send   
someone to look for him.  
But Owen Paris would always give them a steely glare and say the   
same thing: "If he wants to be found, he will tell us where he is."  
After nearly two years - two years after the terrible trial where   
Tom revealed that he had lied about the shuttle accident that killed   
three people - Admiral Owen Paris had still not forgiven his son.  
They knew their father well. He was not the sort to tolerate   
flaws or weaknesses in his cadets, much less his son.  
"Give him time," Elizabeth Paris would say in her soft, level   
voice. "Your father needs time. So does Tom. Things will be alright."  
Only their mother had sounded defeated, not hopeful. And each   
time she received a missive from Tom - usually a dismissive "Hi Mom.   
Having a great time. Will write soon." - she would lock herself in her   
room and cry.   
So the sisters decided to take things into their own hands. It   
took some poking and the liberal use of the Paris name, but they found   
him. He had been staying in a bar in Marseilles, France for the past   
six months.  
"Can I help you?" asked a French-accented voice.  
Moira jumped, but composed her face in time to face the blonde   
woman behind the bar. When she did that, the woman's face changed from   
mild curiosity to surprise.  
"You are looking for Tom, oui?"  
Surprised, Moira could only blink. Then she said, "Yes! I heard   
he was staying here-"  
"Yes he is," the woman said gravely. "I'm Sandrine. You must be   
his sister. The resemblance is strong," she nodded, as if confirming a   
fact.  
Moira only returned the nod, feeling impatient. She cared only   
for Tom. "Please, can you take me to him? I need-"  
Sandrine came to her side so quickly, Moira did not have time to   
finish her sentence.  
"Oui, I will bring you to him. He needs you. If you had not come,   
I thought of contacting his family. Come, this way."  
  
Sandrine led her behind the bar to a flight of stairs that looked   
rickety but seemed sturdy enough to be climbed. As they walked up the   
stairs, Sandrine spoke in a low, hushed voice.  
"He spoke often about your family. Especially about an elegant   
and beautiful sister he adored," Sandrine threw her a knowing smile. "I   
can see that he misses his family, so I do not know why he does not   
return." Sandrine gave her a pointed look that was a question in   
itself.  
Moira did not know how to answer her. She just looked away.  
Sandrine took her silence in stride, continuing: "I heard about   
the accident. I can understand why he is this way. But your brother, he   
is not well," Sandrine said worriedly, confirming what Moira had   
suspected.   
Moira was immediately anxious. "In what way?"  
"He sometimes spends days in the room - does not come out.   
Sometimes, he forgets to eat - but don't worry, I force him to eat. Tom   
and I, we are old friends, you can say. He is a shadow of his old self   
- back when he was here with his Odile, he was life itself! But now...I   
tried to ask him once why he was this way, but he looked...terrified."   
Sandrine gave her a look that was a cross between puzzlement and worry.  
"Terrified?"  
"Oui. I think...sometimes, he looks beyond my shoulder, and his   
face becomes white, his eyes large. He looks, frightened! I look   
behind, but there's nothing there. This has happened many times. I have   
tried to ask why but he just waves me away. He doesn't want to talk   
about it, he says," Sandrine's French accent became more pronounced as   
she became agitated.  
Moira frowned. What Sandrine was telling her...it sounded like Tom   
was suffering from depression. Or something worse. Moira blanched,   
thinking about Sandrine's statement about him being frightened by   
something unseen. "How long has he been this way?" she whispered.  
"I think it has happened a long time before he came to my bar six   
months ago. Although he fears what he sees, he does not appear to be   
surprised by them."  
Was it true then? Were the rumours she heard two years ago from   
the USS Copernicus crewmen true?   
She had been treating some members of the crew for wounds   
sustained in a violent plasma storm when they docked at Deep Space 5,   
where she had performed her residency. They had commented that Tom had   
"lost it" before the trial where he confessed his lies.   
"He crawled on his hands and knees to sickbay. Saw him myself,"   
the ensign from Astrometrics had said.  
"Really?" asked his female crewman curiously.   
"Shame, really. He was had a good pedigree," the ensign had said   
morosely - as if he cared, which Moira seriously doubted.  
By that time, she had exited the sickbay in a fit of rage, and   
nothing could bring her back to treat the crewmen, not even Dr. Zolan's   
threat to have her residency cancelled.  
"I'm glad you came, Moira. I am so worried for him."  
Moira blinked, brought back to the present by Sandrine's voice.   
They finally landed on the first floor. There appeared to be only   
one room on the level, and as Sandrine rapped on the single brown door,   
Moira clenched her fists in fear and anxiety.   
"Tom? There's someone here to see you," Sandrine said gently.  
No answer.  
Sandrine knocked again. "Tom? Please open the door."  
Moira heard a faint shuffling behind the door. Sandrine gave her   
a hopeful look before she stopped away, giving Moira full view of the   
door.   
She steeled herself when the door opened a crack and a blue eye   
peered through. It scanned Sandrine, then shifted to her and widened.   
She smiled at it hesitantly, hoping the smile looked natural, not as   
strained as she felt now. The eye lingered on her for a while, then the   
door creaked open slowly.  
Despite telling herself to expect the worse, nothing prepared her   
for Tom's condition. He was thinner, his face gaunt and unshaven. His   
blond hair, usually cut according to Starfleet standard now fell in   
unruly waves almost to his shoulders. His pale features were made worse   
by the brown shirt he wore over his scruffy black pants. But what   
shocked her were his deadened eyes, and the furtive look he cast about   
them; as if he expected someone to jump out from the shadows any   
moment.  
"What...what are you doing here?" he rasped. His voice was weak and   
unsteady.  
Moira's chin trembled, and it was difficult not to let her tears   
fall. She brushed a hand brusquely over an escaping tear and looked up,   
forcing a smile.  
"Why, I came to take you home, Tommy," her voice sounded strained   
to her ears, but she didn't want Tom to see how distraught she was over   
his condition. Not until she ran a medical tricorder over him to find   
out what was wrong with him.  
Tom's shoulders slumped - not the reaction she expected. She   
expected outrage, some sulking - or even some sarcastic tongue-lashing   
- but not this defeated look he gave her.  
"Tom...please," she pleaded, not knowing what she pleaded for. She   
reached out hesitantly to touch his shoulders. "You're obviously not   
well. I can't...you can't go on like this. Please come home - Mom is   
worried sick. Dad...dad is too," she pleaded, all pretence of happiness   
gone.  
"You're lying," he said almost immediately, his eyes narrowing.   
Some spark returned to the blue eyes. Moira recognized it as anger.   
Good. Good. Let him be angry. Anything but this depressed shell of a   
man.  
She was, indeed, lying. Admiral Paris had been dismissive and   
aloof about his only son. As far as he was concerned, he had no son.   
When their father became angry, he stayed angry for a long time.  
Her mother had tried to explain it away, saying that that was her   
father's way- he loved his son so much that anger was the only reaction   
he would naturally have when Tom threw his life away. And Kathleen had   
agreed with Elizabeth Paris, which secretly angered Moira - though she   
knew that her sister took after their patient mother and would not even   
blame a fly if it caused a Denebian plague.   
"Anger at himself, more than anything else, Moira," Elizabeth had   
told her once. "He's mad at himself, at Starfleet, even at Caldik   
Prime. He's confused and he needs time to sort things out."   
But you can't deny it, Mom. Dad is mostly angry at Tom.  
"It doesn't matter," she told Tom forcefully, pulling herself   
from the memories. "I'm taking you home, whether you like it or not.   
Then I'm going to make you well again, do you understand me?" her voice   
became a plea towards the end, and she reached out to touch his hand.  
He touched hers tentatively. They were cold. To her surprise, she   
saw tears in her brother's eyes. He had stopped crying when he was six   
- a Paris did not cry, went the saying in the family. Tom had not even   
cried after the accident, nor after the trial when his life seemed   
absolutely ruined. She rushed to him immediately, desperate to comfort   
her little brother the way she did when he was small, anything to take   
the pain away. She wrapped her arms around him as sobs shook his body.  
Don't cry, Tommy! Don't cry! she pleaded silently, but Tom did   
something she never though he'd do, and it terrified her more.   
He begged.  
"Please help me, Moira. I'm so scared," he whispered.   
Moira wrapped her arms tightly around her brother biting her   
bottom lip to stop the tears. She wanted to protect him from the demons   
that haunted him, but she knew that no matter how hard she tried, they   
would never go away with her strength alone.  
  
  
For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating again. So he waited   
for it to pass, and when Moira smiled at him, something sparked and he   
realized she was real.  
She stood there in the dark corridor, looking so serene and   
peaceful in her elegant beauty. She radiated the confidence and   
stability that he craved, and when she smiled, he felt safe for a   
little while.   
Moira's smile assured him the way it had when he had left the big   
doors of the Academy courtroom, effectively cashiered from Starfleet.   
"You're still my brother, Tommy. Nothing can change that," and she had   
smiled that smile and had taken his hand, leading him away from that   
horrible place that left him without a reason to live.  
For a while, her bright presence made him forget about *them*.  
Sometimes they would creep up behind him, terrifying him when he   
happened to glance at a mirror or look behind. Sometimes they appeared   
behind the shoulders of people he spoke to. Most of the time, they   
appeared to him when he was alone, usually on the verge of sleep.  
They - Odile, Charlie...Bruno - never left him alone.  
He thought he would get used to them, perhaps be less afraid as   
time went, but the terror was fresh after each encounter. The guilt,   
worse. They were still unappeased; despite his life being irrevocably   
ruined. The spirits of his slain friends and lover were not satisfied.   
They wanted something more from him.  
And as time passed, they grew more and more disfigured by decay.   
Sometimes he could smell their rot. They stared at him with milky eyes,   
and the accusation in them left him in torment.  
He thought of going to Betazed - to search for Lissine, the   
Betazoid who had awakened the darkness within him. But he never made it   
past the shuttleport - because Odile would always block his path,   
staring at him with sad, listless eyes.  
They didn't want him to leave.  
When he slept, his sleep was haunted by nightmares -   
usually of something chasing him, or worse, memories of their happy   
times together. Those hurt him more than the chasing dreams because the   
dreams alluded to the fact that these things would happen again. But   
that could not be. When the nightmares became worse, he found his mind   
trapping him in inexplicable mazes in which he found himself trying to   
correct the wrong, trying to prevent it. Trying to avoid all the voices   
and faces that accused him. People he knew, like his father, his   
mother. The captain. Charlie's mother. A priest he had met as a child.   
A stranger on the street. There was no escape.   
The only escape he found was through alcohol, which deadened him   
and threw him into dreamless sleep. For a time. Then that, too, did not   
work. *They* had found a way to break through. Soon, he discovered   
sleeping medications - sleep, but no dreams. He was safe at night. But   
it did not stop them from visiting him during the day. So, he often   
took the medication during the day. But, he could not always be asleep.  
Sometimes he tried speaking to them, but their decaying   
appearance unnerved him too much for him to try. And the guilt. It was   
the guilt that stopped him the most. And the fear of what they would   
say. What they would demand.   
He was pulled back into the present. Saw Moira looking at him   
anxiously and he turned away, fixing his eyes on the fast moving   
scenery outside, wishing everything would just go away.  
Everything happened in a blur after they left Sandrine. Moira had   
wrapped some sort of coat around him and had bundled him into a   
transport. She spoke to him, but he didn't understand what she was   
saying - all he could do was close his eyes and wish the exhaustion   
that had plagued him these past two years would go away. He knew she   
was worried about him, and a part of him that still cared wondered how   
his mother and Kathleen - he didn't care much about what his father   
thought - would react to his condition.  
Admiral Owen Paris. Did he care that his son was alive? Did he   
care that his son was on the verge of insanity? Did he care beyond the   
fact that the Paris name had been sullied by his apparent heir? Did he   
love his son?  
Once, Tom was sure of the answer. But now, torn apart by years of   
strained silence between them, he was no longer sure. Not that he   
cared, he quickly thought.  
Their last conversation - two years ago - had been disastrous.  
"All that effort, all that training, all that investment in   
Starfleet! After all I've done for you, after all I've taught you - you   
lied! You did the thing I taught you never to do. A Starfleet officer   
upholds his fellow officers, he does not frame them for pilot error!!   
Do you know what this means, Tom? You can never fly again! Not in   
Starfleet, not out there. What kind of life are you going to have?   
Spinning the dabo wheel in some Ferengi bar? You threw your life away,   
Tom! Damn it-" his father clenched his teeth in an effort to control   
himself.  
Tom had always feared his father. He wanted his approval so badly   
that his whole life was spent as if he walked on a tight rope; taking   
one false step would have led to disaster. And did he ever fall.  
And he reacted the way he always did when his father showed his   
disapproval. With anger.  
"You mean *your* life, Dad? What, you lost your trophy son? No   
one to brag about to your admiral friends anymore? Well, if that's so,   
I'm glad I've *thrown away my life*! I'm glad to see you disgraced! And   
I'm glad to be the one to do it!!" his voice had risen a notch with   
each word until he had screamed the last word.  
"You idiot," Owen Paris said in a harsh, low voice. He looked as   
if he wanted to strike his son. "You damn idiot! Get out of my sight.   
Get out of my sight, and don't you ever come back to this house again!"   
his voice rose in fury.  
Each word had cut into his heart like a knife, but he somehow   
forced a smug grin on his face. "Gladly, Dad. Gladly. You won't see me   
again. I promise that much."  
It took ten minutes to gather what he needed - and he was gone.  
And now...he was crawling back again. He felt humiliated, but at   
the same time he wanted so desperately to return to the comfort of the   
familiar - to Kathleen, who sat by the lake to paint every Sunday   
evening. To his mother, who baked the best apple pie. To Moira, who   
made Medical school the most exciting topic at the dinner table. He   
wanted all that like a man dying of thirst wanted water. Something   
normal, something that protected him from the ghosts that would never   
leave him alone.  
When I come home, *they* will leave me alone. Moira promised she   
would help me. Mom will help me...Odile, Bruno, Charlie...they will leave   
me.  
Even as he thought that, he knew how frail the hope sounded. And   
how very empty the promise was.  
Exhausted, Tom could only curl his body closer to his corner.   
Finally, he lost the battle and fell asleep.  
  
Moira looked at her brother anxiously when he finally slumped in   
his corner. Gently, she took out her medical tricorder - she never left   
home without it - and scanned him. She was afraid that the beeping   
noise it made would wake him, so she cut the sound and watched the   
instrument intently. He slept on, apparently exhausted from whatever   
ordeal he had gone through.  
She frowned at the readings. Dangerously low glucose levels. Some   
signs of malnutrition. Exhaustion...and she read slightly elevated   
dopamine levels. Moira's heart fluttered. Could it be true? Was Tom   
hallucinating?  
She toyed with the idea of sending him to the hospital   
immediately - but she remembered his eyes lighting up at the mention of   
home and thought against it. No, Tom needed something reassuring right   
now, not the cold, sterile confines of a hospital.  
They arrived at the transport area in Paris half an hour later.   
With the help of the driver - a Starfleet ensign who had assisted her   
in her search - they supported Tom as he alighted the transport. He   
looked dazed and confused and paid no attention to his surroundings as   
she spoke to the Ensign to arrange the transport to San Francisco.  
Gently, she guided her brother to the assigned transporter bay,   
trying to get a response from him through empty banter. She tried to   
keep her fear in check when she realized how weak and disoriented he   
was. So she continued her banter, hoping he would come to life a little   
or, at least, be assured by her voice. Tom didn't seem to react until   
she mentioned her mom baking him his favourite dessert.  
He looked at her slowly and smiled a faint smile. "Apple pie?" he   
asked.  
Moira nodded. "Apple pie," she replied, blinking tears.  
  
  
When they rematerialized at the lakeside, she felt Tom tense   
beside her. Quickly, Moira shot him a look and was relieved to see a   
smile on his face.  
"The gardens...they're beautiful. Mom - I forgot how much she loved   
the lake and the gardens," he said quietly.  
Moira smiled and patted him on the shoulder. Before the   
transport, she had given Kathleen a call - telling her to tell Mom to   
expect them. Elizabeth had grabbed the communicator from her daughter   
and demanded, in a breathless voice, whether Tom was alright. Moira   
didn't know how to answer her, but she finally said: "Please don't   
expect much, Mom. But please don't make him feel bad either."  
She finally saw them. Kathleen and Elizabeth Paris stood at the   
end of the garden. Elizabeth had her hands clenched, while Kathleen -   
calm Kathleen - was rubbing her shoulders as if she was cold.  
"Tom..." she motioned towards them.   
Tom's eyes lit up and he smiled hesitantly. That did it -   
Kathleen and Elizabeth ran towards him and enveloped him in a hug,   
crying and laughing at the same time.  
  
  
He was home.  
He felt Kathleen and his mother's arms around him, and how happy   
they were. He felt glad, but he still felt strangely hollow - and that   
alarmed him a little. He had been hoping to feel more when he set foot   
on his home soil. When he pulled away, he wanted to smile, but then his   
eyes shifted to the lake - just to see what it was like, that favourite   
spot of his mom's - when he saw *her*.  
He paled, and he began to shake. He wanted to scream in terror,   
but he did not have the strength.   
His legs shook as he stared at Odile. Her condition had worsened   
since the last time she had appeared to him. Her flesh had long turned   
blue. Her eyes were no longer a vibrant green as they had been in life.   
They were filmed over in death, and flakes of skin peeled around the   
eye sockets.  
She was suffering, he thought. And he imagined her body, lost in   
space - deprived of the peace it sought on home soil.   
She stared fixedly at him - reminding him that he was the one   
that condemned her to a life of the living dead. It's your fault,   
Tom.   
Your fault, and don't you ever forget that Odile whispered in   
his mind. He had stopped debating whether the voice was real. It was   
real. It was just...real.  
Faintly, he heard his mother calling out to him as if from a   
great distance. Someone shook his shoulders. With great effort, he   
pulled his gaze from Odile to fix it on his mother's.  
She was afraid. Her blue eyes were wide, and her mouth moved. She   
was saying something, but he found it too difficult to concentrate on   
the words.  
He only shook his head and pulled away from them, walking   
woodenly towards the house - afraid that they would see his tears.  
  
  
___________________  
Chapter 2  
  
"Why do you want to be a scientist, Kathleen?"  
Kathleen remembered raising an eyebrow at her then pesky 12-year-  
old brother, wondering why she had to answer his question, knowing that   
he'd use the answer to annoy her.  
"Because I like exo-biology," she replied simply, returning her   
gaze at the complex equations before her. Declared a prodigy, her tutor   
had recommended her entrance to Oxford University at age 9, the oldest,   
and most prestigious university on Earth. She was to start on her PhD   
next semester.   
Tom, thin and gawky, as boys his age were, was relentless. "Why   
do you like exo-biology?"  
"Because aliens are fascinating."  
"Why?"  
"Because they're not my irritating brother, that's why," replied   
18-year-old Kathleen, wishing earnestly that he would shut up.  
"He's trying to needle you, Kath," Moira had said from her seat,   
looking extremely amused.   
"Why doesn't he needle you?" Kathleen accused, honestly wondering   
herself.   
"Because I'm never patient like you are, so he doesn't bother,"   
Moira had answered, returning her gaze to her textbook. At 16, Moira   
was already preparing for her medical entrance exams, and by the looks   
of her scores, she was going to gain an easy entrance to the   
prestigious medical university in Iowa she had set her eyes on.  
Tom shook her arms again, "Why not piloting, Kath? Like me? Do   
you like flying like me? When I grow up, I'm going to fly a starship   
like Dad-"  
"Daddy's a Captain," she had replied patiently, correcting his   
mistake.  
"Yeah, well, it's better than exo-biology," he had taunted. And   
when Kathleen reached out to smack him with her PADD, he had skipped   
away, laughing gleefully.  
  
Kathleen could still hear that gleeful laugh as she gazed at the   
sleeping form on the bed. But it was a mocking memory of a time where   
their lives were more predictable, and their futures secure.  
After stumbling into the house, Tom had suddenly collapsed on his   
knees in the living room, apparently too weak to climb up the stairs to   
his room. His condition frightened them; it sent their mother into a   
frenzy of anxiety, where she rushed to the communicator to contact   
their father. She and Moira had helped Tom to his old room, where he   
promptly collapsed on his bed, fast asleep.  
Kathleen reached out to touch his brow. No fever. Somehow, she   
had expected some physical symptoms, but Moira had said that   
physically, he was fine except for some signs of malnutrition and   
exhaustion, both easily rectified. It was his depression that made him   
so exhausted.  
Tom was sleeping on his side, his face almost buried beneath the   
blankets that came up to his chin. He slept the sleep of a man who has   
not known real rest for a long time.  
Tommy. Why must this happen to you? she wondered, feeling an   
old familiar sorrow in her heart.   
It pained her when he had left hastily two years ago. Part of her   
felt guilty that she had not stopped him. If she had, perhaps he would   
not be in this state now.  
But the look in his eyes had stopped her. It was full of pain and   
anger; and Kathleen instinctively knew that he had to go away to deal   
with those issues.  
But perhaps, that had not been the way.  
To be honest, *she* had not known how to deal with the loss of   
his bright future. She did not know what to say to him, and worse, when   
he had the trial that would effectively cashier him out of Starfleet,   
she had not attended. She regretted her decision till this day.  
Especially *this* day.   
She brushed stray locks that fell from his forehead.  
"Dr. Peterson is coming soon."  
Kathleen jumped a little. She turned to look at the shadowed form   
at the door of her brother's room.  
"Moira, you scared me."  
Moira walked straight to Tom, pulling out her medical tricorder.   
She was silent as she studied the readings.  
"Any word from Dad?" Kathleen asked for perhaps the twelfth time.  
"No," Moira replied curtly. "Damn it," she cursed suddenly. She   
turned away, rubbing her forehead with her right hand. Kathleen could   
see her clenching the tricorder tightly.  
"Moira," she said softly, going to her. "What is it?"   
Moira turned to face her and blinked away tears. "I can cure   
physical illnesses, Kath. But...this is not my area! I feel so *damn*   
useless!"   
Kathleen nodded, understanding. Tom and Moira...they were more like   
their father than they would ever admit. All three wanted control in   
every situation, and when they had no control, they could not accept   
it.  
Kathleen put her arms around her sister, and felt Moira sniffing   
over her shoulder. "He's going to be okay, Moira. He's back home now,   
and we're going to make it okay for him again," she promised.  
Moira pulled back and brusquely wiped her tears away.  
"We have to get Dad," she announced. With that, she marched away   
from the room, her shoulders stiff with determination.  
Kathleen could only watch her go and return to Tom's bedside.   
Settling into her chair, she watched the placid lake through the   
window, wondering how the setting sun could make such a beautiful place   
gloomy. Then she turned back to her brother, hoping he'd wake up to   
drink some water.  
  
  
***  
  
  
"Do you think it'll be a girl?"  
Tom opened his eyes, the question still ringing in his ears.  
Odile had visited his dreams again, and this time, she became the   
future they'd hoped to have. Pregnant with his child, flushed with the   
first bloom of motherhood.  
It tortured him.  
"Tom, do you want some water?"  
He blinked, and his eyes focused on the woman beside his bed.   
"Kathy," he murmured.   
Kathleen smiled, and helped him sit up. He sipped at the water   
cautiously and shook his head to indicate he had enough. Kathleen   
merely nodded.   
"Your hair. You cut it," he remarked.  
Kathleen touched her hair in reaction, smiling.   
Like Moira, Kathleen was stunningly beautiful. But unlike Moira's   
icy and perfect beauty, Kathleen was a gentler version which reminded   
him of their mother. Her hair had always cascaded around her shoulders   
in gentle waves, not tied up in the recent style like Moira's and her   
blue eyes always held humour and understanding.  
He had missed her.  
"You've been asleep for almost eight hours. Do you want to eat   
something?" Kathleen asked gently, helping him lie down.  
"No," he murmured, averting his eyes. "I want to be alone," he   
said hoarsely. He saw something flicker in Kathleen's gentle eyes   
before she nodded. It made him feel guilty.  
After a few seconds, he opened his eyes a little and saw that   
Kathleen was walking towards the door. When the doors slid quietly   
behind her, he sank into the bedclothes, shivering and staring at the   
darkness.  
But he didn't want to be alone, not really.  
But he couldn't deal with Kathleen, or Moira, or even his mother   
now. He could see the questions in their eyes and now, he was just too   
exhausted to answer them all. So he stared into the darkness for a long   
time, trembling in fear, waiting for *them* to visit him again.  
He always thought of his sins - what he had done, the crimes he   
had committed, the crimes to which he had confessed. It was a vicious   
cycle that kept repeating itself in his mind over and over again,   
tormenting him with questions of What If?  
And from the start of his nightmare with the phantoms that   
haunted his dreams and waking moments, he had confided in no one. Not   
to the Doctors, not to his family, and especially not to Starfleet   
Medical.  
The 'Fleet was only interested in culpability of the resulting   
accident. Such an organization could not worry about the anger   
generated by the actions of a selfish father that drove his selfish son   
into completely disregarding the responsibility he had for his fellow   
officers. They had branded him as a coward, a liar - worse, a traitor.   
Starfleet had casted him away like a worn out warp core.   
But he had been selfish, so very selfish. And his selfishness   
caused the innocent to die. So, in essence, maybe it had not been an   
accident that they died.   
But the accident was just waiting to happen.  
Tom shifted in his bed, closing his eyes, willing his turbulent   
mind to stop debating and jabbering, but it went on, and he heard his   
voice, so calm and rational, speaking out in defense of his actions.  
But, I did not led them to their deaths. Not knowingly. Not   
willingly. It *had* been an accident.  
But he was guilty. He lived and they died. Where was their   
justice?   
But is it justice for me to suffer so much for an accident? Loss   
of career. Loss of friends. Loss of credibility. Loss of ever having   
Dad's love and respect? I confessed. Gave up everything.   
Was he to be punished forever? What more could he do to appease   
them?   
Images of their exploding spacecrafts crept into his mind. He   
imagined Odile crying out in terror as she was burnt alive-  
Tears escaped his eyes, and he turned his face aside, letting   
them fall. Then he began to sob his fear and grief in earnest, ashamed   
of his weakness.  
His days were filled with these thoughts and more. Over and over   
and over. Analyzing. Reanalyzing. It never ended. Except when he slept.   
Tom burrowed deeper into his covers, willing himself to sleep.  
If he slept, he would be at peace.  
  
***  
  
He spent the next few days asleep in his old room - nothing had   
been touched there. Everything was where it had been when he left it   
two years ago, but it brought no comfort to him. He downed the sleeping   
pills discreetly, afraid that Moira would discover them and throw them   
away. On the fourth day, after their cajoling and talking failed to   
rouse him from his sleep, Moira had appeared by his bedside with a   
hypospray. He blinked at it lazily, wondering what she would do with   
it.  
"I'm administering an anti-depressant, Tom. It will help you,"   
she whispered as she injected the medication.   
Did that mean she was a Doctor now? When he left home two years   
ago, Moira had been in her last year in Medical school. Had she made it   
already? Was she Dr. Paris now? Vaguely he heard a strange, male voice   
in the room. Who was it? Why couldn't he recognize it? The answers to   
these questions seemed too difficult to contemplate, so he slipped into   
sleep once more.  
  
***  
  
"I'm so afraid for him, Moira," her mother whispered, listlessly   
pounding the dough on the kitchen counter.  
"Dr. Peterson did say he would recover, didn't he?" Kathleen   
asked, her voice strained with worry.  
"Yes he will. He *must*," Moira answered, her eyes narrowing. She   
was seated near the kitchen table, studying Dr. Peterson's reports on   
Tom's condition. So far they confirmed her diagnosis. Dr. Peterson   
recommended transfer to Starfleet Medical once he was more stable -   
perhaps in two days.  
"Have you called your father?" Elizabeth asked, her expression   
tight. For days they had tried to contact the Admiral, but it had been   
the same message: He was `engaged' and there was a `communications   
black out'. This time, Moira had an answer for them.  
"He was in the Donari Sector with the Enterprise. They were   
searching for some damn Maquis base. They said he is on the way back,"   
Moira replied bitterly.  
"When he transports back, I'll have a word with him," Elizabeth   
said.  
"No," Moira said quickly. "I will."  
"Moira-"  
"Mom. I found Tom. I know what's wrong with him."  
Elizabeth knew it was more than that, and she wondered whether it   
was wrong of her to dissuade her daughter from doing it.  
"Alright, Moira. Alright."  
  
***  
  
  
"Kathleen...do you believe in ghosts?"  
Kathleen stopped her knitting to look at his bundled form before   
the fireplace. It was evening, and because of the cool autumn air, they   
had lit the fireplace early.  
She forced a smile. It had been five days since he had returned   
home, and this was the first time he had initiated a conversation.   
Perhaps this was a good sign.  
"Not particularly. Scientists don't usually indulge in   
superstition," she answered, giving him a small smile.  
That was obviously not the right answer. Tom turned away from   
her, fixing his eyes on the flickering of the fire.  
Inwardly, Kathleen cringed, dismayed by his reaction to her   
answer. Frantically, she tried to understand what she had said wrong,   
but she could not come up with an answer.   
She put aside her knitting and knelt beside his armchair, taking   
his hand in hers. He stirred, turning to look at her. She wanted so   
desperately for him to smile a genuine smile, or for him to tease her   
the way he had in the past, even if the jibes made her mad most of the   
time.  
"Tom, you can talk to me," she said softly.  
"Can I?" he whispered, his voice flat.  
Kathleen blinked, and remembered how she had been so stunned by   
his trial that she couldn't bear to attend. But she had apologized to   
him later, although he did not acknowledge her. Sometimes Kathleen felt   
that she was no better than their father; that in some way she had   
betrayed him.   
"I'm sorry I've never been there for you. But you know I love   
you, Tom. Please, tell me what...what I can do for you?" she wanted to   
ask him what was wrong with him, what made him this way, but she didn't   
want to remind him of his condition.  
"I want you to make the ghosts leave," he said, lines of pain   
forming beneath his pale eyes. "I want to stop being afraid."  
Kathleen was frightened by his answer, but she pushed on,   
desperate to understand what was happening to him. She bit her lower   
lip and gripped his hand. Moira had told her that he was possibly   
seeing things. She had not welcomed that possibility, but Tom was   
trying to tell her something, and she was not going to let it pass -   
even if it terrified her that her brother could be losing his mind.  
"Do you know these ghosts? Can you tell me what they do?"   
He looked at her as if he was deciding if she could or would   
understand or if he would be wasting his time.   
"Please, Tom. I want to help you and I can't do that if you don't   
tell me what's happening."  
He stared at her a little more, seeming to make a decision. He   
took a deep breath. "Odile. Bruno. Charlie."   
Kathleen felt her heart pound harder. In as calm a voice as she   
could muster, she asked:   
"Are they here now, Tom?"  
Eerily, his eyes shifted somewhere behind her left shoulder.   
"Yes," he said in a curiously flat voice, still staring at that   
imaginary spot.  
"What are they doing?"  
His lower lip trembled and he squeezed her hand in a sudden vise-  
like grip. He rubbed his temples with his other hand, as if to will   
something terrible away. He closed his eyes, his breath coming in   
harsh gasps.  
She could guess what was running through his tormented mind, and   
she ached from the knowledge.  
"Tom, it was an accident," she said, her voice firm. She hoped   
she didn't sound as frightened as she felt, because she was terrified   
now. "You confessed and you were punished accordingly. It's in the past   
now."  
"Oh God, how can it be in the past if they're here?" he said in a   
pathetically small voice, his eyes still closed, his hand still to his   
head. His body shook like a reed. "They hate me, they hate me, they   
hate me-" he whispered monotonously.  
"Tommy, don't say that!" she cried, desperate now. "Don't think   
that. They were your friends. They would understand it was an accident.   
They would understand you were afraid and they would be relieved you   
finally told the truth-"  
He continued to tremble violently, caught in his private torment.   
He looked as if he was trying to suppress his tears, but doing it   
unsuccessfully. Even in the most dire straits, he still refused to cry   
- a Paris to the last.  
"Tom!" she reached out for him.  
He jerked his hand away from her touch as if it was acid. He got   
to his feet and stumbled away from the chair.  
"Tom, please-" she rose, going after him.  
He only looked at her with dazed blue eyes, his expression slack.  
"I need to sleep now," he whispered, walking unsteadily away.  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
  
Moira looked up from Dr. Peterson's reports to see Moira standing   
at the doorway to the study. Kathleen looked strange.  
"What's wrong, Kathy?"  
Kathleen's eyes were red from recently shed tears. She was the   
only one in the family that was not shy about her tears, Moira noted   
absently.   
Kathleen sighed and turned her head away for a while.  
"Tommy-" she closed her eyes for a few seconds, her face   
contorting in pain. "I checked up on him, and he's asleep in his room.   
He just told me- God, I wish I knew what was going through his mind! He   
has to go to Starfleet Medical *today* Moira," she said with   
uncharacteristic sternness.  
Moira thought the same, but somehow, she knew that wasn't the   
issue now. "What's wrong?" she insisted, her brows coming together in a   
frown.  
Kathleen fixed her with a look that made her pause for a while.   
It was a frank, somber look - something Kathleen reserved for big   
revelations.  
"I never seem to say the right things to him, Moira. I want to   
reach out so much to him but..." she paused to take a deep breath, then   
returned her gaze to Moira. It was steadier, calmer now. "I love him so   
much, but he loves you more," she said softly.  
Moira felt a mix of emotions - hurt, at Kathleen's assumption.   
Anger, which she quickly smothered - at Tom who made Kathleen feel that   
way, and guilt, because secretly, she had known it all along - and had   
enjoyed the privilege of being the favourite sister.   
Moira fixed her eyes on the PADDs before her, not sure how to   
answer Kathleen.  
"I'm sorry, Moira," Kathleen said after a brief silence. She   
looked embarrassed by her outburst. "I didn't want to bring this up."  
Moira could only give her older sister a small smile. "Kathy...I   
want to prove you wrong one day," she could only say.  
Suddenly, the communicator in the study beeped. Kathleen walked   
to it, and saw the message on the screen. She looked uncertain.  
"What? What is it?" Moira asked, half rising from her seat. She   
wondered if Dr. Peterson had discovered something else about Tom's   
condition...  
"Daddy's home," Kathleen responded, her eyes shadowed. "I'll be   
with Mom," and she left Moira alone.  
  
***  
  
Tom had left the room after Moira checked on him. He thought then   
that he had to get away from the house full of people, to be alone to   
figure things out. So he had left his suddenly claustrophobic room to   
wander by the lakeside, hoping that happy memories of that place would   
bring some comfort to him.  
But the ghosts came to him anyway - the place he thought he was   
safest: the lakeside, where he had spent many peaceful evenings with   
his family in the past.  
She had appeared behind him, and had laid a hand on his shoulder.   
It shocked him of course, terrified him as usual - was he never going   
to be rid of this exhausting fear?  
He was so tired. Tired of being afraid all the time.  
Odile stared at him with her filmy eyes. He shrank away from her,   
stumbling into the lake, feeling his bare feet sinking, muddy into the   
shore.  
He looked at Odile. Then stiffened when he felt something behind   
him. He turned - it was Charlie. He stumbled away, only to collide with   
something else. He didn't have to look to see that it was Bruno.  
"Why are you doing this to me?" he pleaded to the apparitions.   
"Haven't I done enough? Haven't I cleared your names? What else do you   
want from me?!" he asked desperately, shivering miserably.  
You're pathetic, Paris. A first-class pilot, indeed. The Paris   
name has never sunk this low before. How do you feel about being the   
break in a perfect line of Starfleet admirals? How do you feel, slowly   
losing your mind like this? taunted his own voice in his head.  
Tom clamped his hands over his ears to stifle the voice, but it   
droned on. This time it was Charlie's voice that taunted him.  
You deserve this, Tom. You do. Do you think we'll leave you   
alone? We died, Tom. You are still alive. How can this be fair? We were   
supposed to be alive, Tom.  
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" but it was more of a plea than   
anything else.  
And they did. After so long - he didn't know exactly how long -   
he looked up. Odile was still there, only she was staring at him with   
some sympathy in her filmy eyes.  
"What do you want from me, Odile?"  
But she had disappeared.  
Exhausted, he sank to his knees, then lay on the mud, too tired   
to care.  
Water lapped to the shore. He stretched his arm to touch the   
water, just an inch from his face.   
He was tired, so very tired.   
He could not pull himself up again if his life depended on it.   
Nor could he endure another day. Another day of living in his own head.   
Never able to sleep. Never able to rest.   
He closed his eyes.  
It all had to end somehow.  
  
  
Admiral Owen Paris was clearly exhausted. It was clear had not   
changed from his uniform, because it was smudged from what appeared to   
be soot or burns.   
"Now, what's the emergency, Moira? I don't appreciate being   
recalled from the Enterprise in the middle of a Maquis raid."  
"Oh, you will appreciate it, Dad. You have to," Moira replied,   
her voice harsh and angry.  
Owen was not used to Moira speaking to him this way. But then   
again, their relationship, although loving, had not always been easy.   
His wife had secretly called Moira his "female twin", because despite   
the differences in careers, she was very much like him. She held people   
at a distance with her icy and unapproachable beauty, and she was   
fiercely dedicated to her career and would not hesitate to sacrifice   
family time for it. For these similarities, they had interesting   
debates, and intense shouting matches, especially since his son-  
No. He had no son. Not when he had not bothered to talk to him   
for two years. He threw away his career and future for what?  
He felt the anger buffer him from his confusion.  
"What are you talking about?" he almost barked.  
  
Her father. In his I-will-not-tolerate-any-nonsense tone.  
He was still angry with Tom, Moira thought. And that made her   
furious. Until now, she had never thought herself capable of hating   
Owen Paris, but she hated her father now.  
"Tom is home," she said shortly, studying his features for   
reaction.  
Surprise, then worry - then the steely mask that she was   
accustomed to appeared in quick succession. "Is he?" the voice was   
cool.  
Moira reminded herself to be cool, that any angry altercation   
would do no one any good, especially Tom. Moira had agreed with Dr.   
Peterson's decision to allow Tom to recuperate at home, but after   
seeing Kathleen so distraught, she thought better. Tom would go to   
Starfleet Medical today, and Owen Paris was going to pull every string   
he could.   
She needed to tell her father about Tom, and she knew that   
somewhere underneath all that anger and self-condemnation was the   
father who loved his son.   
"Yes. And he needs you, Dad. He needs you to help him," she said,   
forcing calm into her voice.  
"Help him?" Owen snorted. "He doesn't need my help. He told me   
that quite clearly two years ago. Or is he out of credits? Is it money   
that he wants? Just give him some and send him on his way."  
Moira felt the fury flame in her heart at his cruel words. If Tom   
had been there to hear him say this, he would have been shattered.   
Thank God he's asleep, she thought.  
But despite her fury, she registered the dismay in her father's   
face as the words stumbled out. Moira, the part of her that was   
rational, knew that her father was relieved, even happy that Tom was   
back. But he was so used to the anger he felt for his son that he did   
not know how to react any other way. Like her mother had said, "He   
needed time". Only this time, Moira was not going to give him any.  
"Tom is sick, Dad. When I found him in some seedy bar in   
Marseilles, he could barely stand! How can you- How can you still be   
angry with him after all this time?" tears misted her eyes. "Or was Tom   
right? Don't you care anymore?" she whispered.  
"What...what do you mean?" he asked, stunned; his voice gruff and   
low. But despite his concern, he still frowned, though his eyes were   
sharp with anxiety.  
"He's suffering from severe depression, but I'm afraid it's   
something more. Dr. Peterson recommends that we bring him to Starfleet   
Medical once he's able. He's done nothing but sleep for the past five   
days, and he barely has the strength to walk. *That's* what I mean."  
Owen's face crumpled and he sank to the chair slowly.  
"All he ever wanted from you was your approval. Just give it to   
him for once," she said bitterly. Then she turned and left him alone...to   
work things out.   
  
***  
  
Moira turned to see her father coming into the dining room. She   
had waited for him here, knowing that he would come to her once he   
"sorted things out". And he took quite a while to sort things out -   
almost an hour; and she wondered what went on in that quiet living   
room. Perhaps he struggled with his own demons, she thought.   
Moira merely studied the Admiral at the mention of her name, her   
face impassive.  
"I'm sorry," he breathed. Gone was the steely mask, the Admiral   
of Starfleet. This was the most vulnerable she had seen him - not even   
after the Cardassian torture had he looked so pained.   
"Why have things gone so wrong?" he asked her -or rather,   
himself, sighing as he sat beside her.  
Moira was quiet for a while. Then she shook her head. "It's   
called pride, Dad. And that damned Paris name."  
Owen clenched his fists. "We will need the best doctors in   
Starfleet. I don't care if we have to ship them in from Vulcan. He'll   
have the best care," he said in his full Admiral mode again. "He will   
be better again, Moira," he promised.  
Moira sighed a small sigh. It was as far as he would go to admit   
that she was right.   
"And then, once, when he is well, maybe he can fly again." He   
gave her a small smile.  
But she never had a chance to react to that smile.  
"TOM! OH MY GOD! TOM!!!"  
And she knew that they would never see her father's secret dream   
come true.  
  
***  
  
He was a failure, like the one before him.  
The being clenched his fists, the obsidian skin rippling. Anguish   
filled his heart as he studied the life in this dimension. How painful   
it was to see this version fail, like the one before.  
The previous version had spiraled away from despair to violence.   
This one had given in to despair. They were both failures.  
He would right the failure. He would.  
He stretched out his hand and his golden eyes glowed.  
  
___________________  
Chapter 3  
  
Dimension 20895  
San Francisco,  
Earth.  
Two years later.  
  
  
Owen made sure that Tom stayed in his sight. Tom tended to   
disappear sometimes - wandering where he shouldn't, ending up in places   
that Owen would rather he not be.   
Tom was still in the garden, making cooing noises to Buster. He   
looked happy and content in the sunny area, sitting cross-legged on the   
warm grass, surrounded by colourful Rokalian tulips. And as he stroked   
the golden retriever, a big, indulgent smile lit up his features. Tom's   
blue eyes practically twinkled.  
The sight should please him, Owen reminded himself. But it   
didn't. It stabbed him each time.  
Tom laughed, a childish laughter devoid of any adult worries.   
"Dog!" he cooed, hugging the dog. Buster gave him a sloppy kiss. Tom   
laughed and shot Owen a delighted look and laughed happily again.  
He returned the smile, albeit forcefully.  
And he was reminded again, about his failure. His stupidity, and   
the pride that had destroyed his son.  
He closed his eyes, and once again saw himself running with Moira   
towards the direction of his wife's screams...   
"HELP! OH MY GOD, SOMEONE HELP HIM!!"  
He arrived only to see what he didn't think he'd ever see: his   
son, floating face down in the middle of the lake, lifeless; his wife,   
swimming desperately towards him.   
He did not think, he dove - and perhaps it was because of his   
desperation and mindless fear, but he got to Tom first.  
"Oh my god, Owen!" Elizabeth gasped, shivering beside him as she   
tried to pull her son away from him.  
"I've got him, Elizabeth! I've got him!"  
Tom's skin was a pasty grey and his lips were blue. He was cold   
to the touch. And so still. Frighteningly still.  
"Owen? Is he-? Oh my God, Owen! He's not breathing!" his wife   
whimpered and shrieked at the same time.  
And he swam faster, trying desperately to reach the shore. It   
seemed to take forever to reach it. When they got there, Moira ran to   
them, her face white with fear, medical tricorder in her shaking hands.   
She paled further when she saw the readings.  
She threw the tricorder aside and immediately initiated mouth to   
mouth resuscitation. Owen could only stare helplessly as Moira tried to   
breathe life into her brother. He heard Kathleen running towards them   
and faintly registered Elizabeth telling Kathleen what had happened   
between hysterical sobs. And Kathleen saying that she would get the   
medical emergency unit, her usually calm demeanor shaken by fear. Then   
everything began to slow down, and he saw things in slow motion.  
When the medical unit arrived, they had immediately placed Tom on   
minimal life support, but as Moira shone light into his eyes, Tom's   
pupils had not reacted, but had remained dilated. The medical personnel   
exchanged grave glances.  
"No, no," Moira moaned, denying what their looks said. "No, Tom.   
Don't do this, Tom!" she shook his limp body.  
"Ma'am, we have to take him now. Ma'am-"  
"What is it?" Elizabeth had demanded. "What's wrong?" her voice   
rose in panic.  
"I'm a doctor," Moira said shakily. "Please, let me go with him."  
One of the medical personnel nodded and the emergency team had to   
take Tom away.  
"Oh, God," he heard Elizabeth moan in anguish. "I should have   
checked on him sooner...I should have..."  
They were too late. *He* was too late.  
Owen walked towards his son, holding his son's favourite food:   
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  
"Time for lunch, Tom. Since you're not going inside like you   
should, you'll have to eat it here, not that you mind."  
Tom looked up and stared at him blankly. The pale blue eyes held   
neither recognition nor understanding at what he had said, but when   
they shifted to the sandwiches, he gurgled with delight and reached for   
them.  
Owen let him take it, watching Tom sadly as he wolfed down the   
sandwich, sharing a few morsels with Buster.  
The doctors had speculated that his son had been without oxygen   
for almost forty minutes. By rights, he should not even be alive.   
Later, it was discovered that Tom had ingested high amounts of   
sleeping pills before his drowning. The doctors theorised that his   
"accident" may not have been an accident after all. The report by Dr.   
Peterson about his severe depression managed to seal their suspicions   
that it was indeed, an attempt at suicide.   
Owen kept imagining that scene in his mind. He could see his son   
walking unsteadily deeper into the lake, perhaps unaware of his   
surroundings as the drugs dulled his mind. Perhaps he had walked to the   
middle of the lake before he had tripped on a stone at the floor of the   
lake. He would have sank into the water, and would have been too tired   
- or too ill - to swim to the surface.  
Or perhaps, Tom had taken the drugs on purpose, and had walked   
into the lake, each step calculated, each step determined. Until the   
drugs took over and he sank into the water, pulled under by sleep.   
No one could determine what had actually happened, but the   
doctors assured them that Tom had not suffered. He had simply fallen   
asleep...and drowned-  
-while he argued with his daughter, Moira. And while he sat on   
the armchair in the hall, struggling to break the pride that kept him   
from seeing his son.  
He had never forgiven himself for that damning pride. Neither had   
Moira, whom he had not seen in two years.  
His family had never been the same after Tom's...accident. Moira   
had distanced herself, and Owen knew her enough to know that she blamed   
herself for not discovering the sleeping medication. The occasional   
communiqué he received from her was always about Tom, and she had asked   
her questions brusquely and without much emotion. The last he had   
heard, Moira had posted herself to Deep Space 11, putting as much   
distance away from them as possible. Kathleen, on the other hand, had   
gotten married. She visited them often, and hers was the only name Tom   
remembered.   
Elizabeth had been devastated. She had the lake drained.   
"I'm going now."  
Elizabeth's voice brought him to the present. He turned towards   
her and she returned his gaze impassively. She had lost a lot of weight   
since the accident, and looked almost gaunt. Her once long, blonde hair   
was now cut short to her shoulders, and it had more white than blonde   
these days.  
"When will you be back?" he asked in response.  
She shrugged. "In an hour. I need to take Tom for his   
physiotherapy."  
He nodded.  
They stared at each other mutely for a while, then Elizabeth   
broke the silence. "I've signed the documents," she said shortly.  
"I see," he could only say.  
"Don't hold me back," she said accusingly, fixing him a steely   
glare. Then her chin trembled, and she looked away. "I'll be back in an   
hour," she said again.   
With that, Elizabeth walked into the garden.  
He watched her kneel next to Tom, speaking to him in her gentle,   
lilting voice. Tom paid her little attention, his gaze on the dog. Owen   
knew that Tom's obliviousness to the people around him was what hurt   
her the most.   
He didn't blame her for divorcing him. He had caused her enough   
pain. He would leave her this house, and he will shift to an apartment   
near the Bay so he could visit Tom often.  
Ironically, the only thing that still kept his family remotely   
tied together was Tom.  
Owen sighed, walking towards the study doors that faced the   
garden.   
The doctors had managed to save Tom's life, but large portions of   
his brain had been damaged by oxygen deprivation. The vital parts that   
controlled motor and automatic functions were repaired, but the   
surgeons were unable to save the areas that gave him speech, memories,   
understanding...  
In essence, his son, once a boy infatuated with all things 20th   
century and a piloting prodigy with a bright future in Starfleet had   
been reduced to a shadow of his former self, barely aware of the world   
around him. The Doctors had likened his condition to a now easily   
corrected condition called autism, though for Tom, his impairment was   
incurable.   
Tom was gone. His body was alive, yes - but *he* was gone,   
drowned in the lake behind his house.  
The man in the garden with the dog was a faint shadow of the   
past. His only joy was the dog, and when he uttered his first word   
since the accident, it had also been "dog". In a way, Owen resented   
Buster. Buster was the only creature Tom was aware of.  
Yet, it had taken them a year to get him this far. Until Buster -   
the dog - Tom had isolated himself from all physical contact, screaming   
whenever anyone touched him. The simplest tasks eluded him. It had   
taken him a month to learn how to use a spoon, more than half a year to   
relearn how to walk. Starfleet Medical had almost given up on him until   
Kathleen brought him that puppy. Tom's blue eyes - which had been blank   
for so long - lit up with delight, and he did something no one thought   
he would ever do again. He *reached out* for the puppy.   
He started to improve immediately, and his growth had pleased the   
Doctors. He would never be the same Tom Paris, the doctors said, but   
he could live a marginally independent life in time.  
But what kind of life is this? What kind of life did his son   
have with his memories gone, his intelligence and understanding and   
everything that made him Tom erased?  
He entered the study, keeping a watchful eye on his son through   
an open French door. He gathered his lecture notes absently, wondering   
why he still lectured at the Academy when his spirit was not in it   
anymore. He had resigned his commission two years ago, and only at the urging of   
Admiral Shawn did he take up the lecturing post at the Academy.   
His eye caught a note on his table. Written in Kathleen's neat   
cursive, the note read: Will be here for dinner. Bringing Alex along.   
Says he's heard of a new treatment. Moira called - her return will be   
delayed by a week. Don't be sad, Daddy.  
He felt a mix of emotions at the simple note. Alex was Kathleen's   
husband, a doctor she had met at Tom's rehabilitation center. Owen   
liked him immediately - perhaps because of his dedication to cure Tom.   
And the mention of Moira made him sad - despite Kathleen's gentle   
reminder. "She's in pain, Daddy. And she's dealing with it in her own   
way. Don't hate her for it," Kathleen had told him. Owen did not hate   
Moira for it. He was merely grieved.  
As he shuffled the PADDs, his eyes caught Tom's picture at the side   
of the table. Tom was dressed in his Academy uniform. He beamed   
proudly, as proudly as Moira who had her arm slung around his   
shoulders.  
Owen sighed, knowing what he'd do next but helpless to resist the   
urge. He opened his drawer and stared at the holoprojector, wondering   
what good it would do to stare at old pictures.  
He activated it.  
There was Tom, looking sullen in his Holloween costume - a bunny   
costume that Elizabeth said he simply looked adorable in. He had been   
eight, and when Owen had taken the picture, Tom had just finished   
saying: "This is a stupid Earth tradition, Dad!"  
Next picture.  
Tom, on top of a snowy slope, resting on his skis. He had thrown   
Elizabeth - for Owen had never been in any of his ski competitions - a   
cocky grin boys that age wore.  
Tom, standing proudly beside his first light shuttle, looking   
very pleased with himself for having qualified for the best piloting   
team in the Academy.  
Owen shut the holoprojector, feeling both saddened and resigned.  
Owen was glad that despite his condition, Tom was now happy,   
blissfully unaware of what he had lost. Thank goodness for small   
mercies-  
The burst of light caught him by surprise. Decades of Starfleet   
training made him fling himself down on the floor, thinking it was a   
detonating device. When the thought came to him, Owen opened his eyes   
in panic.  
TOM!  
He got up, heedless of the blinding light - but the light was   
normal. He scanned the garden desperately, and he felt fear gnaw at his   
heart.  
Tom was gone.  
  
___________________________  
Chapter 4  
  
Dimension 53623  
USS Voyager,  
Sector 456, Delta Quadrant.  
  
  
"I swear, Harry! Somehow the Doc did it on purpose!"  
"Oh? And why would he do that?"  
Lieutenant Tom Paris rolled his eyes and stopped walking to face   
his best friend.  
"Because he's in his `golf phase'!"  
Harry Kim lifted a speculative eyebrow. "His golf phase?"  
They resumed walking, with Paris gesturing wildly all the way.  
"He doesn't care if that hour is the only time B'Elanna and I can   
get off. It's like his photography phase, his opera phase - and when   
he's in a phase, he holds on to his holodeck time like a mynak cat on   
its prey."   
"That's a colourful metaphor, Tom," Harry grinned.  
"Harry! This is serious! And you're the only person who has the   
time slot B'Elanna and I need." Tom put on the face he usually wore   
when he was about to ask Harry a big favour. Like Harry knew he would.  
"Oh, no, Tom. You're *not* going to get any help from me."  
"Oh come on, Harry. I just need two hours. I promise I'll pay you   
back. Double the holodeck time!"  
Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. "That's what you said   
the *last* time."  
"This time it'll be different. I will remember. Promise!" Tom   
shot him an all too innocent grin.  
Harry sighed. "Why me?" More to himself than Tom.  
Tom placed an arm around Harry's shoulders. "Because, my wife and   
I will thank you for the rest of our lives for this."  
Harry merely sighed.  
  
  
He waited for the voices to pass before he allowed himself the   
luxury of groaning in pain. The bright lights blinded him. The pain in   
his head made him nauseous, and left him dangerously vulnerable to any   
attack.  
Tom lifted himself on shaky legs and cracked his eyes open.   
Everything was still blurry and spinning, so he closed them again,   
taking deep breaths to clear his head.  
The alien did this to me Rage boiled inside him and he gripped   
his fists in fury.   
You were careless. No one should catch you unawares! Noone! He   
opened his eyes again and willed the world around him to be steady.  
It worked, at least for a while. But the effort drained him. He   
leaned against the padded wall in exhaustion.  
He frowned.  
Padded wall?  
He turned, staring in amazement at the turquoise wall. And when   
he looked down, he was more amazed to see the floor carpeted.   
He was definitely not in the muddy streets of the Shima   
Territory. But he still wore his cloak, and it was still wet and muddy   
from the rain of that forsaken place, so he had been there.  
Instinctively, he reached for his laser sword beneath his cloak.   
Deactivated, it was an innocent looking stick eight inches long. When   
activated, it became a double-edged sword, capable of creating a small   
weak shield around him when needed. It was cursed luck that he left   
behind Kelly, his favourite disruptor back home.  
He studied his surroundings closely. He caught a glowing panel   
further down the corridor. He walked carefully towards it, glancing up   
and down the corridor for people. When he finally got a good look at   
it, he sucked in an angry breath.  
The language and symbols were too familiar to him.  
He growled.  
He was in a Federation facility of some sort. Somehow, the   
Federation had caught up with him.   
Or could this be a trick from that alien creature? But for what   
purpose?  
No matter.  
He activated the blade.  
He was not going to let the Federation or the alien have him so   
easily.  
He heard his opportunity coming down the corridor a second later,   
and he readied himself. He was exposed in the corridor, but his target   
would not be able to react quickly.  
The blonde woman walked towards him, her eyes fixed on a PADD,   
muttering to herself.  
She looked up in surprise, but by then it was too late.  
  
  
***  
  
Neelix was annoyed. "Forgetfulness is a common sign of aging, Mr.   
Neelix. I have more important things to do than to cure forgetfulness   
at 4 am in the morning," Neelix mimicked the Doctor's dry voice as he   
walked into the darkened messhall to prepare for the Breakfast crowd.  
So he had been a little worried! One of Merlot's Syndrome - a   
common disease among Talaxians - most common symptoms was   
forgetfulness, and he *had* to be sure.  
"Hmph. What if I forget to turn off the stove one day and burn   
down the messhall? Maybe *that* will change his mind!" Neelix   
complained to himself as he activated the lights of the kitchen.  
He reached for the apron that hung on the wall and hummed a   
Talaxian folk song.  
Neelix blinked when he heard a sound.  
He frowned. Sometimes a crewman or two would end up sleeping in   
the Mess hall for some strange reason or another. And most of the time,   
they ended up giving him a heart attack when they jumped out from the   
darkness to demand breakfast.  
"Hello? Is anyone there?" He called out.  
Again, the scuttling sound. This time accompanied with a whimper   
of fear.  
Neelix raised his eyebrows. His voice did not usually frighten   
crewmen.  
"Naomi?" he called out. Honestly, if this was another of the   
Ktarian girl's idea of a prank...  
Okay, enough fun and games. "Computer. Lights on."  
This time the voice shrieked in fear. Neelix had to blink away   
the spots that formed from the sudden transition from darkness to light   
before he could make out the huddled form in the corner of the   
messhall.  
His eyes widened.  
Tom Paris was huddled behind a table, his knees drawn up to his   
chest. He was shivering violently, as if he was in a grip of some   
sickness. Tom peered at Neelix with wide, frightened eyes. Furthermore,   
he was out of uniform, something that struck Neelix as curious as he   
knew Tom would be on the early morning shift today.  
"Tom? Are you alright?" Neelix was truly concerned now. He knew   
Tom was a prankster, but surely he couldn't imitate that blind fear   
Neelix saw in those eyes.  
He walked closer. Tom shrank further into his corner, whimpering.  
"I won't hurt you. It's alright. It's Neelix...remember?"  
Tom only stared at him blankly.  
There was only one thing to do. He activated his commbadge.  
"Neelix to the Doctor."  
"What is it now, Mr. Neelix?" the Doctor's grumpy voice was loud   
in the messhall. Neelix saw Tom look around in surprise then shrink   
even further into his corner.  
Something was definitely wrong.  
"I think you better come down to the messhall. Now."  
  
***  
  
"Tom! What are you doing?!" his hostage shrieked.  
He had not expected that. She knew his name! It angered him even   
more.  
"Be quiet, or I will kill you," he hissed, tightening the   
chokehold he had around her neck. She made a small sound of surprise.   
"Tom, it's me, Samantha Wildman. Don't you recognize me?" the   
calm in her voice was forced, but Tom could see the fear in her eyes.  
He did not bother answering her, but instead dragged her down the   
corridor with him. He pulled her into a small nook in the corridor and   
lifted the glowing sword to her neck. She flinched.  
"This facility. The name," he demanded.  
"You're on Voyager," she said in a puzzled tone.  
"A ship?"  
She tried to turn her head to look at him, but he would not allow   
her that.  
"Answer me!" he growled.  
"You're on a ship!" Samantha answered, her voice high from   
anxiety.  
He frowned, thinking on her answer. They must have transported   
him off the planet. How did they know he was there? Better, how did   
they know about his real identity?  
"Shuttlecrafts. Where do you keep them?"   
Samantha Wildman gave him a puzzled look. "Where do you want to   
go?"  
Tom glared at the Starfleet Officer, confused at the intimate way   
she spoke to him. As if she knew him...  
"You will answer my question!" he snapped, bringing the sword   
closer to her face.  
Wildman flinched, trying to back away from the sword. "It's in   
the docking bay. You know where they are," she answered, her voice   
sounding more confused than frightened.  
Her answer puzzled him even more. "Lead me to it."  
"But-"  
He pulled her forcibly to him, the blade so close to her fair   
skin that it began to burn a light line across her neck. She shrieked   
in fear.  
"I do not know you, Starfleet. Now you will lead me to the   
shuttlecrafts, or you will die."  
  
  
Samantha could only think of Naomi when she felt the searing pain   
on her neck. She pictured her daughter asleep in her room, with her   
favourite doll, Flotter, curled up beside her.   
I don't want to die. Not yet.  
So she led Tom to the shuttlebay as he asked. There was enough   
time to puzzle out his strange, no, frightening behaviour later when   
Tuvok caught him, like she hoped he would do when she had discreetly   
activated her commbadge. Tom was too distracted by her screams to   
realize, and she was glad for it.  
Tom pushed her away from him and she looked at him, surprised at   
her sudden freedom.   
"Do not think you can run from me, Federation. The sword will be   
in your back before you finish your thoughts of escape," he said, his   
blue eyes flat.  
Samantha would not risk it. But for the first time she caught a   
good look at Tom.  
And realized that it couldn't be Tom.  
Or at least, not *her* Tom.  
His hair flowed to his shoulders, some of it tied in thin braids.   
He stared at her from eyes that seemed carved out of chipped ice. It   
held none of the gentleness and humour she was familiar with. The cold   
eyes that stared piercingly at her held rage and hatred.  
He wore a muddy cloak and he was leaner, more muscular than the   
Tom she knew. And there was a look about him that unsettled her. It was   
almost as if he was wild and uncontrollable, an untamed Creature that   
was dangerous to be near.   
She should have realized it by the way he spoke to her. His voice   
was flat and icy, even when he threatened her. She knew instinctively,   
that this Tom had no qualms about ending her life.  
"Now," he said.  
She nodded, willing herself to walk steadily to the shuttlebay.  
  
  
Whizzing stars can be so dull, Tom thought.  
The graveyard shift was the most boring and painful shift ever   
created - in his humble opinion. That, and the fact that he had only   
three hours of sleep because of an emergency at sickbay. Lieutenant   
Le'ana had gone into labour, and he had spent two hours trying to   
placate her nervous Bajoran husband Toban. That and in between rushing   
to the Doctor with this instrument or that each time he yelled.  
But the look on Toban's face when I handed him his daughter was   
what made it all worthwhile Tom sighed in contentment. Who would've   
thought that Toban - the angry and bitter Bajoran who thought   
Federation folks were scum second only to the Cardassians would marry a   
Starfleet crewman and have a former Maquis/Starfleet traitor hand him   
his first child?  
Did things change these past seven years! Tom mused. For one,   
he was now married. Married! The feel of that golden ring on his finger   
still amazed him, yet it felt strangely comforting. It was the evidence   
that his life had changed so much from the pit it had been seven years   
ago, when his only future was to spend life at the fringes of   
Starfleet, an outsider forever.  
"Tom. Tom? Voyager calling Tom?"  
He blinked, and realized that Chakotay was calling him. Sheesh.   
To be caught daydreaming at the helm by Chakotay of all people was   
worse than embarrassing - it meant he was in for a word or two from the   
first officer after his shift.  
There was a scattering of giggles from the bridge.  
Oh yeah, life just started getting better.  
"Uh...yes sir?" he turned, knowing that his pale skin did nothing   
to hide the blush creeping up his face.  
Chakotay did not look annoyed though. He looked rather amused -   
in that quiet way of his. Maybe it was his lucky day today after all.  
"Long night?" the first officer asked.  
Tom turned back, grinning. "Well you know what it's is like being   
married..."  
A chuckle from Janeway.   
"Or when you deliver babies at three in the morning," Janeway   
added, dry amusement in her voice. "How *is* Mr. Toban?" she asked. Tom   
could sense her giving him an amused look.  
"Well," he made some quick adjustments to Voyager's route to make   
it smoother- "-aside from fainting when Le'ana had her twelfth   
contraction, pretty overjoyed, all things considered," he drawled.  
"What are they naming the baby?" Chakotay asked.  
Tom smiled to himself. He could almost feel the whole bridge   
perking up in attention. Babies were a big affair on Voyager - the   
arrival of a new life, such a rare occurrence on the ship, gave its   
crewmembers hope and a renewed sense of being a family. He fully expect   
Neelix to do a special "Good Morning with Neelix" episode on Toban's   
kid tomorrow.  
"Well, he has a choice of 40 names. And a choice of a dozen crew   
members vying to be godfather or godmother to his kid. I would say the   
name will be a long time in coming," he quipped.  
There were good-natured groans from around the bridge.  
Perhaps the graveyard shift wasn't that bad, Tom mused. Sometimes   
the dead dullness of it all led to some casual talk - and if he was   
lucky: gossip.  
  
An hour later, he reverted to his earlier opinion.  
The graveyard shift sucks. Nothing going on except whizzing   
stars. Give me an asteroid belt, anyone! Tom thought groggily, wishing   
desperately for something - anything to happen right now.  
"Captain, we have a situation."  
Tom blinked, glad at the break in the monotony. Looks like my   
wish came true he mused. He turned to look at the Captain. It had   
become a habit - looking at the Captain when a situation came up. Her   
steady gaze in the face of the direst of circumstances had a strangely   
calming effect on him.  
Janeway sat up straighter. In her hands was a steaming mug of   
coffee. Judging from her bleary expression, Tom guessed that she   
probably had the same opinion as he did about the graveyard shift.   
"What is it, Tuvok?"  
"It's Lieutenant Paris, Captain. He has taken Ensign Wildman   
hostage and they are heading towards the shuttlebay."  
Instantly all eyes were on him. Harry had the strangest look on   
his face - as if he was about to laugh and cry out in astonishment at   
the same time. Megan Delaney had lifted her eyebrows. Tom was too   
surprised to even offer a wisecrack.  
The Captain was just as confused. "Tuvok. Lieutenant Paris is on   
the bridge. Clarify."  
The bridge was eerily silent as they waited for Tuvok's   
explanation.   
Sure I wanted some break from the monotony. But not like   
*this*! Tom thought. He half rose from his seat, but Janeway gestured   
for him to sit down.  
Tuvok seemed to be taking an unusually long time to answer. When   
he answered he sounded faintly puzzled.  
"Curious. But it is Lieutenant Paris that is standing before me   
now."  
Tom pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. Sometimes he had   
these strange dreams where there was more than one of him running   
around.   
Before the Captain could reply, the Doctor's voice broke in.  
"Captain! I think you need to come down to the messhall right   
now," he said, his voice sharp with agitation.   
Janeway frowned. "Now's not the time, Doctor. I have an   
emergency-"  
"It's Lieutenant Paris, Captain. He's hysterical, and I don't   
want to risk a transport, not right now."  
Again, all eyes shifted to Tom. He was beginning to think that he   
was the butt of a very elaborate joke. He shot Harry an accusing look.   
The operations officer shook his head violently in denial.   
"I'm afraid you have to make do without me for now, Doctor. The   
other situation is more dire." The Captain gave Tom a pointed look when   
she got up.  
"Chakotay, you have the bridge. Ensign Delaney, assist the Doctor   
and call for security. Tom, you're coming with me."  
"Aye, aye Captain," he said, feeling all eyes on him.  
Tom, didn't you know you were supposed to be careful what you   
wished for?! he chided himself as he entered the turbolift with the   
Captain.  
  
______________  
Chapter 5  
  
  
They had backed him into a cargo bay, but he still had his   
hostage.  
The Sharbokh in him felt an immediate revulsion at the sight of   
the Vulcan. He narrowed his eyes and growled, "Stay away from me, dung-  
eater!"  
He had unconsciously spoken in Romulan. The Vulcan lifted an   
eyebrow and gestured for the other security officers to move away.  
"Surrender your hostage now, and you will not be harmed," the   
Vulcan replied coolly.  
Tom could only smile at him cynically. Who was this dung-eater to   
threaten him, an Assassin of the highest order? Romulan epithets sprang   
into his mind, and he found himself cursing the Vulcan with them.  
Tom reigned that part of him in, feeling annoyed and disturbed at   
the depth of his hatred. Sometimes the Romulan side that was implanted   
in him grew too strong to be controlled. Sometimes he became the   
Sharbokh of old *too* much.  
"Give me a shuttlecraft. Do not think I will not kill this   
woman. You know I will, Vulcan," he said, this time in Federation   
English.  
"I am Tuvok. You are Tom Paris."  
Tom hissed in anger. Was his identity known to all?! "I am not   
interested in your name, *veruul*! You will order your guards away, or   
I shall kill her," he said in Romulan again. To demonstrate his   
sincerity, he lightly scraped the blade against Wildman's forearm.  
The material burned away, and she yelped in pain as the blade   
burnt a red line on her skin.  
"Stop!" Tuvok demanded, his brows drawn together.  
Tom threw him a malicious smile and took the blade away.  
Tuvok gestured at the Security Officers, and they backed away   
reluctantly.   
And at that moment, Tom picked up a faint movement behind him.   
Without wasting a moment, he grabbed Samantha Wildman and pulled her to   
his chest as his shield as he threw a dagger in the direction of the   
sound. He saw a Security officer grip his chest in agony before he   
collapsed.  
He cast a quick look at Tuvok, his eyes narrow.  
"Perhaps you doubt my sincerity, Vulcan. Should I demonstrate   
more? Perhaps I should cut off a finger or one of her toes?" He brought   
the glowing double-edged sword to her face. "Or perhaps her nose?"  
Tuvok stiffened, Wildman whimpered.  
Just then, the cargo doors opened and two figures walked into the   
bay. One was a red-headed woman with an authoritative posture - the   
leader of this facility, he guessed.  
The other-  
He stiffened, locking his eyes with the man's shocked blue ones.   
He wore the uniform of a Starfleet Officer. The red of Command. It   
was...*him*.  
Yet, not him. This man was a softer version. There was no   
hardness in his eyes, or cynical twist to his mouth. His body was firm,   
but not strong or honed to perfection like his.   
But the sight of his 'twin' in Starfleet uniform brought back   
confusing memories and needs, and he hesitated-  
It was all the hesitation Tuvok needed. Tuvok fired his phaser in   
a laser-quick motion.  
Tom turned quickly, and the phaser bit a line into his arm   
instead of his shoulder. His arm flung the laser-sword away in a reflex   
reaction to the pain, and it also made him release his hostage, and she   
quickly ducked behind a few barrels a few feet away from him.  
It happened quickly then. But he had been `trained' to react best   
in these situations, and the Starfleet officers would pay badly for   
their deception.  
The Security officers that hid behind him attacked, running   
clumsily towards him - perhaps hoping to pin him down. Tom used that to   
his advantage, side-stepping the humans, delivering painful jabs with   
his fists. He took a hidden dagger from beneath his cloak and plunged a   
knife into an officer's back, and then ripped it out to slash the   
dagger across another's face. He somersaulted behind another and   
delivered a kick that would have snapped the man's neck if he had not   
been Vulcan.  
And then, he was left with the Vulcan called Tuvok, and the red-  
headed woman and his dopplenganger. One of the security guards beside   
the Vulcan lifted his phaser as if to fire at him, but Tuvok gestured   
for him to put it away. He did so, albeit reluctantly fixing him a look   
of anger and strangely enough, puzzlement.  
"You have pathetic guards, *veruul*," Tom taunted in Romulan,   
returning the guard's glare. He twisted his mouth in a cynical smile.  
The sharbokh in him was too strong now, and Tom did not want to   
control it. He reveled in its hatred and anger.  
He saw Janeway stiffen in surprise and then shot the other Tom a   
confused look. The other Tom did not take his eyes away from him.   
Instead, he stared at him in open-mouthed fascination.  
He gave his twin a look of scorn.  
"Weak, weak like the humans he came from," he hissed, his Romulan   
accent coming strong through the Federation English. "If this is your   
trick to detain me, it is a weak ploy. I will not fall for it."  
"You are Romulan," Tuvok said, his phaser trained on him.  
He felt a strong urge to say yes, despite the falsehood.   
"The human side of me died a long time ago. It did not deserve to   
live," he answered instead, glaring at the Vulcan.   
Tuvok frowned. "How did you get here?"  
Tom frowned. "You brought me here," he accused.  
"We did not."  
"Do not think you can trick me, *veruul*! Do not think this   
elaborate holographic trick-" he pointed at his double "-will make me   
say anything. And do not think you can take me so easily either!" He   
lifted the bloody dagger, ready for the last strike that would surely   
mean his death-  
Then the pain hit him again.  
It flared from his temple and shot through his body like an   
electric bolt, paralyzing him and filling his vision with bright sparks   
of light.  
He felt his body fall bonelessly to the floor.  
The alien. I forgot about the alien. Veruul...  
And his thoughts died.  
  
  
Janeway reacted immediately when the other Tom collapsed. She   
took out her phaser and walked quickly towards the man.  
"Captain-" Tuvok began.  
Janeway motioned for him to follow her, and he gladly did,   
bending beside the still body.  
"He spoke Romulan," she said while Tuvok checked for a pulse.  
"He is unconscious," Tuvok confirmed. "And yes, he indeed, spoke   
Romulan."  
"A Romulan made to look human? If that's so, what is he doing on   
Voyager, ten thousands of light years from the Alpha Quadrant?"  
Then something seemed to occur to her. She tapped her commbadge.  
"Janeway to the Doctor. Your situation," she barked.  
"It's controlled now, Captain. Tom seems to be content playing   
with a ball I replicated for him. He's quiet now."  
Tuvok lifted an eyebrow, looking at the fallen Tom, then to the   
one standing dumbly at the entrance.  
"Me too, Tuvok. Me too," Janeway sighed and counted the number of   
fallen security officers. "Doctor, prepare for six more patients-"  
Just then, they heard a thud behind them. When Tuvok and Janeway   
turned to look, they saw that *their* Tom had collapsed. Samantha   
Wildman emerged from her hiding place to kneel beside him.  
"-make that seven," Janeway corrected.  
  
  
***  
Sickbay  
1100 hours  
  
It wasn't everyday that you got to see three versions of the same   
person in the same room, the Doctor mused.   
Lieutenant V'tar, the Vulcan security officer had been released   
together with Ensign Lynd who had a deep facial cut, but their two   
colleagues had not been as lucky. Ensign Kennedy had a torn back muscle   
and some damaged nerves, not to mention severe blood loss due to a   
severed artery, while Ensign Toban - the proud father of a healthy baby   
girl - was still recuperating from a punctured lung. Whoever that   
version of Tom was, he was a very efficient fighter.  
The Doctor shivered - he had added that new subroutine just   
recently - when he looked at the unconscious man. His muddy cloak had   
been removed, and he now wore the black pants and shirt that were   
beneath the cloak. The Doctor had placed him under a force field and   
added some restraints to that. His medical condition had been   
perplexing and fascinating.  
And the *other* Tom was rolling the colourful ball the Doctor had   
replicated out of desperation back and forth. As he had been doing for   
the past two hours. The Doctor peered at him curiously.  
When he got to the Messhall, he steeled himself for anything -   
from the Rokalian plague to an ensign with a burnt finger (with Neelix,   
you could never know *what* was an emergency). But he certainly had not   
been prepared for the sight of his medical assistant cowering behind a   
chair.  
He had stared dumbly at the sight, thinking - great, and now   
Lieutenant Tom Paris thinks that a prank at 4 in the morning is an   
efficient use of my time before Tom suddenly let out a loud shriek and   
crawled beneath the table.  
Prank or not, he knew Tom Paris would not resort to these strange   
measures for a joke.  
It had taken Megan Delaney's gentle coaxing - it took her about   
20 minutes - to get him from beneath the table.  
By then, the Doctor realized that something was seriously wrong.   
He chucked all medical theories from his database when Megan told him   
that there was *another* Tom onboard.  
Just another day on Voyager, he mused as he activated the   
biobed. He heard a gurgling sound from the Tom on the floor. He gave   
him another look.  
Severe brain damage. Amazing that he's even alive. But the   
doctors had done a good job in repairing the necessary parts of his   
brain, the Doctor thought.  
Wonder how he got this way? He certainly was born normal The   
Doctor thought sadly, returning to his latest patient. He sighed as he   
scanned the patient on the biobed. By all accounts, he was incredibly   
healthy, just like his last medical checkup had revealed.  
But still, *their* Tom lay on one of the biobeds, in a deep coma.   
  
***  
  
"What do you mean he's in a coma?"  
"Exactly what I said, Captain. He's in a coma."  
The Captain shot him a look that seemed to say: Doctor, this is   
not the time for smart-assed remarks.  
"Because?" she asked, her tone warned him off further sarcasm.  
"I'm uncertain, Captain, but it's as if someone switched him   
off," the Doctor felt sheepish at his answer. Now, he honestly wasn't   
trying to be sarcastic this time.  
"Switched him off?" That was B'Elanna, sounding quite annoyed.   
B'Elanna certainly didn't believe that his remark was sarcasm free.  
"Yes. That's the best explanation I can give you," he replied,   
getting slightly exasperated. He hmphed.  
"You're saying that there's an external influence to his   
condition?" the Captain asked, her brows knitting together, possibly   
forming a theory in her brain already.  
The Doctor looked at the three Paris' in a row and then back at   
the Captain. "Wouldn't you?" he asked her incredulously.  
Just then, they heard a groan coming from one of the biobeds.   
B'Elanna froze, staring at the black clad Paris. He could see that she   
was uncomfortable with the situation.   
It shocked her to find out that the black-clad Tom had seriously   
injured some crewmen. It unnerved her to watch the other Tom, looking   
so helpless and lost. To think of him cut down so young, and in such an   
ignoble way...  
B'Elanna turned away, banishing the thoughts from her head. They   
were not *her* Tom. For now, that would do.  
Tuvok moved from the side of the Tom that played with the ball to   
stand beside the biobed that contained the black-clad version.  
Janeway did the same, flanked by Chakotay. B'Elanna kept her   
distance, watching from her husband's bedside.  
  
  
Tom opened bleary eyes to see a circle of human - and Vulcan -   
faces staring down at him. He instantly struggled to sit up, but found   
himself restrained.  
He cursed and glared at the red-headed woman balefully.  
"The Doctor has run some tests on you and discovered that you are   
fully human," she said in a steely voice.  
"However, you have some inexplicable readings that I want you to   
confirm," said a balding man in a medical uniform. The Doctor, he   
presumed. Tom knew what he was going to say.  
"There is an implant, and even nannites in certain areas of your   
brain. Our engineer has discovered that it is a technology allegedly   
used by the Romulan Tal-Shiar, who use it to extract information from   
their prisoners."  
Tom glared at the Doctor. "So you know what it is. There's   
nothing to be discussed."  
"Oh yes there is," the woman said, frowning at him.  
"Release me," he demanded, narrowing his eyes in anger.  
She lifted an eyebrow. "I don't think so. Not after what you did   
to my security officers. You will answer my questions or I will *make*   
you."  
"You are threatening me. How foolish."  
Her eyebrows knitted in annoyance. "I am Captain Kathryn Janeway,   
and you're onboard my vessel. I want to know how you got here."   
"You obviously brought me here!" he snapped.  
"No, we did not," it was the Vulcan, Tuvok. "We did not register   
a transport beam at the time of your appearance, which was impossible   
since the ship was shielded. It will do both you and the crew good if   
you tell us the last thing you remember before you appeared on   
Voyager."  
Tom studied the sea of faces above him and thought about it. Very   
well, he would tell them only what they needed to know. If this was a   
trick...  
"Raise me up. I feel nauseated with all of you looking at me," he   
demanded.  
Something flickered in the tattooed man's face - annoyance,   
irritability? No matter. Tom smiled, feeling strangely pleased that he   
had affected that stony man.  
Janeway nodded at the Doctor and he raised the biobed to a   
relatively comfortable position. He sighed in relief, feeling better   
than he admitted, but threw them a glare to prevent them from thinking   
him weak.  
So he told them about the strange alien that cornered him at the   
muddy alley in Shima Territory, the pain and the burst of light. It was   
short and clipped. As the three senior officers and Doctor pondered on   
the information, Tom's eyes shifted to the other biobeds. He froze,   
looking at the unconscious lieutenant and the half-Klingon woman beside   
him. She looked at him uncomfortably and turned away. But it wasn't   
them that caught his attention. It was *the other* version of him.   
He sat on the floor, rolling a colourful ball back and forth,   
humming to himself. The twin seem to realize he was being watched. He   
looked up and stared at him blankly, his blue eyes seeing him, yet   
looking *through* him as well. Drool escaped his lips to fall on his   
shirt.   
Tom grimaced. It disturbed him more than he would admit.  
He glared at the officers once more. "What sort of trick is   
this?" he demanded, his anger making him slip back into Romulan.  
Janeway frowned. "A trick that we hope you can explain."  
"I will explain nothing until you tell me *what* they are!" he   
snapped.  
"*They* are *you*," the Doctor said. "At least, DNA wise. The one   
on the biobed is *our* version. Lieutenant Tom Paris. The one on the   
floor...we don't know where he's from, but he appears to be Tom as well.   
He recognizes his name, even if he does not recognize anything else."  
"He is...defective," he said in scorn.  
The Doctor frowned at his words. "He has severe brain damage, but   
as far as I can tell, he was born normal. His brain was damaged from   
some kind of accident. This type of injury can occur from any number of   
possibilities, including asphyxiation," he said.   
A flicker of concern traveled across Janeway's features before   
she turned towards him. Then she sighed heavily and straightened.  
"This is getting us no where. Tuvok, have a full security escort   
bring Mr. Paris-" she gave Tom a pointed look, "-to the brig. Doctor,   
keep me posted on Lieutenant Paris' condition. Chakotay, Tuvok, a word   
with both of you."  
Tom watched them all leave, his mind working furiously on escape.   
  
  
***  
  
He could sense their curiosity.  
But the crewmen moved out of their way, giving them a wide berth,   
some casting him puzzled looks. Others averted their eyes as if they   
were embarrassed at his predicament. It made him wonder if Janeway's   
story was true, that somehow he was in another dimension. A dimension   
where he had not been cashiered out of Starfleet and led a life he once   
dreamt of-  
RIDICULOUS! the thought came so sharply it seemed like a shout.   
It's a trick! A stupid Federation trick to get me talking about my   
contacts, my `crimes'. He glowered at the backs of the two security   
men before him. Two more were behind him, each holding a phaser in a   
hand.   
The later corridors to the brig was emptied specifically for him.   
Apparently, security wasn't taking too many chances with him.  
His hands were bound securely behind, his left leg tagged with   
the tracking device they used on prison inmates. All of it made him   
furious.  
He didn't think that the Federation would resort to such   
elaborate methods to obtain information from him. Never mind how they   
knew about his real identity - this complicating story of dimensions   
and alternate realities did not seem like Starfleet's style.  
It was more Romulan.  
Perhaps it is the Romulans, not Starfleet that has me in their   
grasp?  
His eyes widened at the thought, suddenly alarmed. He pushed the   
feeling back when he realized that it was an echo of a memory the   
implant had given him.  
The Sharbokh was once the elite Guard of the Emperor of the   
Churag Dynasty. But when the last emperor of the dynasty was   
overthrown, the Sharbokh was hunted down to the last man- and although   
it took many decades, and many lives, the Empire got rid of most of   
them.  
Or so they thought.  
The descendents of the very few Sharbokh that survived lived on   
in Romulus, blending into the Romulan way of life, yet secretly fearing   
- and loathing - the new Emperor they apparently served. After so many   
centuries, these negative sentiments remained largely unchanged, which   
was why the Tal Shiar was still actively keeping an eye out for any   
hint of Sharbokh activity.  
He saw flashes of memories flicker before his eyes. A Sharbokh,   
fighting to the death - in the background, he heard the whimpers of a   
frightened child. And then a woman's terrified face as she breathed her   
last. More images of violence-  
Tom closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get rid of the   
memories. They were not his. Not his!   
Get away from me! All of you!  
"Move."  
He felt something nudge the small of his back. Tom opened his   
eyes, and realised that he had stopped walking. The show of weakness   
alarmed him.  
Sometimes the Sharbokh in him grew too strong.  
He continued his even pace, pushing aside the uncertainties and   
vague worries of losing control and having something else take over.  
Now, I must escape  
He lowered his eyelids, concentrating as he was thought. In his   
mind, he pictured them moving from his spine - where they were   
carefully implanted by a physician from a non-Federation planet in the   
Metar Sector. To ensure that the doctor cooperated, Tom had shackled a   
nano-bomb around the physicians' neck. If he had died, the Doctor would   
die with him. Simple. He was awake during the operation. It had   
been...uncomfortable.   
All it took to control them was a thought, said the physician,   
who went on to explain how the nannites would react to specific thought   
patterns.   
It was something he never thought he would use; something he   
reserved only for desperate situations. Capture was not something he   
entertained. He would rather kill himself than be captured.  
He pictured them moving up his shoulders, then down both arms.   
Sweat beaded on his forehead. This time, he could *feel* them crawling   
underneath his skin to pool in the middle of his forearms. Thousands of   
them perhaps. He never really knew how many of them the physician had   
placed in his bloodstream. The nannites were built in such a way that   
they would be undetectable to scanners. He had no way of knowing.  
This time, he felt a burning sensation shoot up his wrists. He   
bit his tongue from the pain, but he kept his pace steady. He could not   
give a hint of what he was to do.  
There were more now. Any time now it would be visible.  
The pain was unbearable.  
And Tom realized it was time.  
NOW!! he commanded the nannites.  
He felt a piercing pain as the nannites erupted from underneath   
the skin of his forearms.  
He couldn't stop it - he cried out in pain.  
  
  
Ensign Rollins did not know what to think of the man walking   
before him. He was Paris. Yet not Paris. It was weird, then again, what   
was the Captain's favourite saying about life on Voyager? Weird is part   
of the job?   
This was certainly strange.  
But Tuvok cautioned the four of them, saying that this version of   
Tom was deadly. Nearly killed Toban and Kennedy and would've done the   
rest in if it weren't for Tuvok distracting him.  
So Rollins was not taking any chances with this guy.  
When he had stopped suddenly, he was immediately on the alert. He   
could sense Diana beside him take a defensive posture. It was a common   
trick they had learnt to anticipate - the token stumble before the   
attack.  
But surprisingly, it never came. `Tom' had continued walking as   
if nothing out of the ordinary was on his mind.  
But he didn't relax his guard. He kept a close eye on the man's   
back - so close it made his head pound.   
What the-  
His eyes caught unexpected movement.  
He gaped.  
Beneath the man's skin?  
Before he could cry out a warning, blood splattered on his face   
and he saw a dozen black particles shooting to his face. They landed on   
his face-  
-he gasped in shock-  
Diana screamed.  
And then he felt them crawling on his face and burrow beneath his   
skin.  
His screaming began then.  
  
  
No time for pain, human Terrak's voice cautioned him.  
He was right. No time for pain. Only escape. He opened his eyes   
just in time to see the two security personnel turn around in alarm at   
the sound of their crewmen's screams.  
He lashed out a foot and caught one in the face with the heel of   
his boot. The man grunted in pain and fell, dazed.  
The other man did not hesitate. Tom could see in his eyes that   
this was a man that was experienced in his work, and had seen many   
battles and has defeated most of his foes.   
But not me. Not today.  
The man raised his phaser and fired.  
Tom had anticipated that. He quickly slammed himself against the   
side of the corridor, but the shot grazed his arm. He hissed in pain,   
but did not allow himself the pleasure of experiencing it for too long.   
He ducked and rolled, nearly getting shot again by his clumsy   
movements. He slammed into the man's knees, knocking him off balance.   
The next shot went awry.  
The man landed on his back with a grunt, and Tom did not give him   
time to recover. He got to his feet quickly and slammed his right foot   
on the man's sternum.  
He heard an audible crack above the man's screams and the screams   
of the others. With another violent kick, he slammed his boot into the   
side of the man's head. He fell abruptly silent.  
Suddenly, he was knocked forward. Caught off balance, he fell and   
rolled to his back just in time to see the man that he had stunned   
point a phaser at him.  
"Stay down" the man wheezed, his eyes round with alarm and anger.   
"Don't move!" he snapped.  
Tom merely gave the man a malicious smile. "You rely too much on   
your fancy weapons, Federation."  
"Well - I like it that way," the man growled, tightening his grip   
on his phaser. The temptation to fire flickered on the man's face. Tom   
did not give him time to entertain the thought.  
The man suddenly screamed, toppling to the ground, his left foot   
nearly severed at the ankle from the blade protruding from Tom's right   
boot.   
Tom gave the man a vicious smile. "So do I."  
The man made one more valiant attempt to fire at him, but Tom was   
faster. With one quick kick to the head, the security man slumped to   
the floor unconscious.   
Working quickly, he searched the guards for the key to unlock his   
bonds. He found it on the nannite infested male security officer and   
quickly inserted the key into the bonds. It gave a soft sound before   
releasing its grip and falling to the floor. Relieved, grabbed a fallen   
phaser next to the man and quickly fired it at the bonds. He had half-  
expected the bonds to blow up when he inserted the key and was   
immeasurably relieved when it didn't. Still, it was better to be safe.  
Next, he focused his attention on the tracking device around his   
ankles. It seemed standard Federation issue. And the Federations did   
not plant bombs in their tracking device.  
Unless they were Romulans.  
He pointed the phaser uncertainly at the device.  
He had to take the chance.  
He aimed carefully and squeezed the trigger.  
With a loud flash, the device broke apart.  
He froze, waiting for the explosion. When it didn't come, he felt   
strangely disappointed. He didn't seem to be dealing with the Romulans.   
Could the Captain be right?  
He snarled. Don't be tricked, you veruul!  
He quickly surveyed the carnage he had caused. The two security   
guards behind him were silent now, their faces disfigured from the   
nannite infestation. It would only take a few minutes for the nannites   
to infest their brains completely. Soon, they would have no brain to   
speak of. The other two lay in a pool of blood, one, his face nearly   
obscured by the blood flowing from his scalp. They too, would not   
survive long. He stepped over their bodies and casually toed his right   
boot. The blade slid back in place, an innocent looking sole once more.  
Only four security men? They had seriously underestimated him. Or   
have overestimated these men's abilities.  
He turned.  
It was time to go.  
  
  
  
Ensign Croden swam up desperately to consciousness. The moment he   
felt a tiny flicker of control over his limbs, he ordered his heavy   
hand to move up to his commbadge. It took such great effort - but he   
managed to tap it.  
It activated with a tiny beep and he took a shuddering breath to   
speak into it.  
"Tuvok," he croaked, hoping his voice was strong enough for the   
commbadge to pick up.  
Stupid, he cursed himself. He had been too shocked by the sight   
of Rollins' and Detal's disfigured faces to shoot the bastard down. He   
should have done it when the man seemed defenseless, lying on his back   
with his hands behind his back. But Starfleet didn't teach you to fire   
on a defenseless man...  
"Ensign Croden. We detected weapons fire. Security is on their   
way," Tuvok said coolly, his level voice coming out soft and loud in   
waves.  
Stupid, Croden. You should know better. You should've fired on   
that man. He was dangerous. He was an animal. Nearly killed Kennedy   
with that knife. What were you thinking?  
His vision was beginning to blur.  
"Escaped," he managed to grate out. "Sickbay..." he slurred.  
"We're on our way, Ensign."  
Tuvok said something else - something that was meant to be   
reassuring. But Croden felt very cold suddenly, and decided to give in   
to the blackness that was determined to drag him down.  
  
  
________________________  
Chapter 6  
  
  
He crept into the Jeffries tube, wincing as the rough floor   
grazed his now-bandaged arms.   
An access panel on the corridor told him that the weapons locker   
was ahead of him, but somehow he sensed that they were waiting for him   
on the other side.  
He frowned, knowing that his choices were limited.   
Perhaps he would die here after all.  
Stop it! You think like a coward! he chided himself.   
Then he would go where they did not expect.  
  
***  
  
The Weapons Locker  
  
If Tuvok could hiss in frustration, he would have.  
"They're dead," said one officer in a tremulous voice.   
"Their...their necks were broken...it was quick," Lieutenant Marr said in a   
whispery voice. Tuvok could see the man's hands shaking.  
Their deaths had been brutal - a man who grew up sheltered from   
the horrors of war, Marr, a petty officer, was more accustomed to   
phaser burns than the more brutal forms of injury meted out by the more   
uncivilized part of their universe. Even after Borg, Kazon, and a host   
of other alien attacks, Marr was still shocked.   
They were too late. It was inconceivable. Even now, the ship was   
crawling with security personnel. It would have been difficult for the   
man to evade them. Yet the intruder had managed to creep into the   
weapons locker and kill two crewmen.  
Tuvok looked up. He frowned. He should have realized it a long   
time ago.  
"The Jeffries tubes," he said.  
  
***  
  
"It is bad, Captain," came Tuvok's voice.  
Janeway paced on the bridge, her brow wrinkled in a frown. A   
dangerous man was loose on her ship. A man that was a trained killer. A   
man that looked like one of their own.  
Just another day on Voyager.  
"B'Elanna. Can you detect him?"  
"No ma'am," came B'Elanna's voice. She sounded embarrassed. "I   
should be able to by using Tom's biological readings, but the computer   
is not picking him up. I think he has somehow managed to disguise his   
readings," she said.  
Of course. If you're in a profession which required you to skulk   
around and kill people, which is what I'm 100% sure this version of Tom   
is involved in, this is a skill you would acquire Janeway let out a   
loud sigh. She wanted to wring the man's neck. And more.   
Four men down. The best of her security team. Two of them dying   
from nannite infestation. Another two dead. Also security personnel.  
"Red alert," she commanded. Amber lights appeared, and the crew   
looked expectantly at her.   
"Tuvok, send your team out. Be careful," as she said so, she   
stalked towards the turbolifts.  
"Captain?" Chakotay enquired.   
"I have an idea," Janeway said, pausing in mid stride. "I'm going   
to bring our man down without any weapons exchanged," she said, a   
twinkle in her eye.  
Chakotay had always been impressed by the Captain's `ideas'. But   
more often than not, it involved high-risk endeavors - like driving the   
ship towards a sun.  
The Captain read his mind. She gave him a reassuring smile. "Wish   
I could explain in greater detail, Chakotay, but you have the bridge,"   
she said.  
Before the doors to the turbolift closed, she saw Chakotay   
regarding her with a puzzled frown. She felt guilty for not explaining   
things to Chakotay, but she simply did not have the time.  
"Sickbay," she told the computer.   
  
  
***  
Sickbay  
  
  
He never thought anyone could be so violent. So vicious. So   
cruel. So merciless.  
More words ran in the Doctor's head as he frantically worked to   
save the four additions to his sickbay. Lieutenant Travis' skull was   
cracked and so was his sternum. Ensign Croden got off the lightest -   
relatively speaking - his nearly severed ankle was easy to reattach,   
his serious concussion easily rectified.  
But Ensign Rollins and Ensign Detal?  
He didn't think technology could be this perverted - even the   
Borg did not use nannites in such a manner. Somehow, these nannites   
were programmed to destroy tissues.  
It was a race against time to remove the nannites infesting the   
victims' brain. And thanks to the Doctor's abilities - and the fact   
that he could work at a much faster pace than a human doctor - he was   
able to remove the nannites before any serious damage could be done.   
Though...I'm not sure whether they'd survive this attack without   
some defects to their coordination or worse, memories  
He sighed. Time to think about it later.  
He looked grimly at Lieutenant Paris on the next biobed, looking   
as if he was in a deep, but pleasant sleep.  
What made you turn out so different from that monster, Tom? he   
wondered.  
"Doctor. I need the data you have on the assassin," said a flat   
and commanding voice.  
"The `who'?" the Doctor looked up briefly from his patients -   
still twitching from pain in their unconscious state - to regard Seven.  
"The intruder," she explained briefly.  
The Doctor scowled. "Can this wait, Seven? As you can see, I'm in   
the middle of something here!" he barked.   
Seven lifted a pale eyebrow. She did not look the least bit   
perturbed. The Doctor wondered whether she even knew how.  
"Unless you wish to see more patients like these, I would   
recommend you to comply now," the former Borg commanded in her no-  
nonsense tone.  
The Doctor heaved a great sigh and impatiently walked over to his   
medical console to key in the necessary encryption to unlock the former   
patient's medical files. A brief glance to his right - his office - and   
he saw the Captain bent over his terminal, her eyes squinted in   
concentration. Somehow, in the middle of all that hustle-bustle trying   
to save the crewmen's lives, he had not noticed the Captain come in.  
"What are you both up to?" he asked as Seven took over his spot   
at the console.  
"We are building a micro-tetrion device," Seven said without   
taking her eyes off the readings before her.  
"Oh?" the Doctor remarked as he returned to his patients. He   
noted with satisfaction that his pain medication was finally working.   
Rollins and Detal appeared to have slid into a more peaceful form of   
sleep. Of course he had no idea what Seven's device was supposed to do,   
but something told him that it would not bode well for the `assassin'.  
"His neural implants may be the keys to bringing him down," said   
the Captain as she walked to Seven's side.   
A sliver of insight crept into the Doctor's program.   
"You can't!" he said, horrified.  
The Captain paused in the midst her work. The Doctor continued   
before she had a chance to say anything.  
"The implants are connected to his main functions-" he began.  
"Exactly," the Captain said.  
"It could kill him!" the Doctor protested.  
The Captain sighed, braced a hand on the console and gave him a   
look she normally reserved for Chakotay when he argued against some of   
her ethically suspect decisions.  
"Would you prefer him kill more of our crew? Perhaps mutilate a   
few while he's at it?"  
"I see your logic in this but-"  
"The device will not kill him. It will merely incapacitate him,"   
Seven interrupted smoothly.  
The Captain returned to her work. "Unlike this Tom, we're not in   
the killing business. But he needs to be stopped."   
She tapped her commbadge. "Tuvok, get your team ready. We're   
going in for the kill," she said.  
  
  
***  
The Bridge  
  
  
The news was not good.  
"B'Elanna?" he asked.  
"We're scanning the Jeffries tube now. It's tough going with the   
interference-" Carey muttered through his commlink.  
"Any sign of him?" Chakotay cut through, impatient.  
"No sir," Carey said sheepishly.  
Chakotay frowned and placed his hands on his hips, staring at the   
streaks of stars before him. He felt eyes staring at him, and Chakotay   
knew what they were thinking.  
How could one man evade highly trained Starfleet personnel?  
Though, as a former Maquis, Chakotay realised that Starfleet was   
not used to guerilla tactics, though they may have wizened up with the   
Maquis. Starfleet did not play hide and seek. This man excelled in it.  
As Maquis, he had encountered assassins before. Usually of the   
Cardassian kind. They were good. This one was better.  
Since the trouble began, the turbo lift doors swished open and   
shut endlessly as personnel hurried from station to station. He heard   
them again and did not bother to turn to regard the new arrival as he   
did earlier.  
It was his mistake.  
He heard a loud thud and a startled exclamation.  
When he turned in surprise, he was in time to see two officers   
shot down. The lieutenant at the conn managed to get his phaser out,   
but was shot down just as quickly. He crumpled to the ground   
bonelessly, hopefully stunned.  
Chakotay was surprised. Actually, he was amazed.  
"How did you-"   
"Tricks of the trade, Commander," replied the doppleganger of Tom   
Paris as he pointed the phaser at him with one hand, and held Ensign   
Kim in a chokehold with his other arm. Kim's expression was stony, but   
he kept perfectly still, knowing that the knife held at his throat   
could end his life in a moment.  
"And it does help when your men are so incompetent," the man   
continued smugly.  
Chakotay noticed that the assassin's wrists were bleeding.  
"What do you want?" he finally grated out.  
"What I've demanded. A shuttlecraft," the man replied. The blue   
eyes, so different from their Paris, bored into his, full of   
calculating menace.  
"And go where?" Chakotay challenged. "Voyager's in the Delta   
Quadrant. We're decades away from Earth."  
The assassin frowned, fury crept into his eyes and his lips   
thinned into a cruel line. Kim gasped as the man drew the knife lightly   
across his throat. A thin red line trailed after the blade.   
Chakotay did not need to hear the assassin speak the meaning   
behind the gesture. *You lie* - the blade seemed to say.  
Chakatoy did not betray the nervousness he felt, but instead went   
on determinedly.  
"If you insist, go ahead. But I warn you, the Borg do not make   
good flying companions."  
"You lie!" the assassin snarled.  
Suddenly, there was the familiar hum of a transporter beam.   
Chakotay reacted instinctively. He reached for his phaser-  
But Harry beat him to it. Distracted by the beam, the assassin   
lost hold of Harry when he drove his elbow into the man's gut. The   
assassin doubled over in surprise, but recovered in time to slash Harry   
at the shoulders. Harry grunted in pain and flinched when he saw a   
phaser trained on his face-  
-Chakotay fired.  
It caught the assassin on the shoulder. He flew backward, the   
phaser and knife flying from his grasp.  
But the man was not stunned. He rolled to his feet and prepared   
to duck into the turbolift.  
But he wasn't quick enough.   
Something flew in the air and landed on the man's neck.  
Chakotay realized that it was a dart. He grimaced when he saw the   
familiar grey mottling of the veins around the wound. The dart had been   
filled with nannites.  
The assassin's eyes widened. Then he slumped to the ground,   
unconscious.  
"Incompetent indeed," he heard Janeway mutter.   
Tuvok appeared on the bridge via the turbolift. Behind him were   
more security personnel. Quickly, they restrained the assassin.  
  
______________________  
Chapter 7  
  
The Captain's Quarters  
1245 hours  
  
Janeway sighed and then stretched, feeling the tiredness of her   
muscles. For once, she was glad that the Doctor ordered her to her   
quarters. The alternate Paris' vicious escape attempt had drained her.   
The thought of four more of her crewmen lying seriously wounded - two   
of them from nannite poisoning (a condition she had not known was   
possible until now) in sickbay made her furious and anxious at the same   
time. Two of her crewmen lay dead in the morgue. She wanted to punish   
him for depriving them of their lives, but the shady nature of the   
assassin gave her pause.   
The implants must have been forcibly placed in him, the Doctor   
had reasoned. Surely no one would have allowed the implant to be   
embedded in their head. He had gone on to explain how the implant was   
so intricately connected to his brain that to remove it would have have   
adverse effects.  
Plus, how it got there wasn't pleasant. It had been injected   
through the temple. They couldn't know how it had happened, because the   
Assassin refused to divulge anything about that.  
Brainwashed? Forcibly recruited by the Empire? If so, he was as   
much a victim as her officers were  
With all this going on, frankly, she wasn't sure how long she   
could have stayed awake.  
Just what the hell was going on?  
A theory had been forming in her mind, and it sounded plausible   
when she discussed it with Chakotay and Tuvok.   
After further grilling with the black-clad Tom, they discovered   
that his world was slightly different from theirs. In his dimension, he   
had not joined the Maquis - this information he gave out in extreme   
reluctance - and had gone `his own way'. Historical events differed   
slightly as well. Admiral Paris was in the Badlands fighting a war with   
the shady Dominion, while *their* Admiral Paris was heading the   
Pathfinder Project. Again, the information about the Admiral was given   
out reluctantly.  
It seemed reasonable to conclude that he and the other Paris had   
come from different dimensions, where history had turned out   
differently for both. For the other Paris, his fate had been an   
accident that had reduced him to the mentality of a child, while the   
other became a warrior, or if her suspicions were correct - an   
assassin.  
And for some reason, they had ended up on her ship.   
They had gone to Astrometrics, and Seven offered the possibility   
of an inter-dimensional anomaly, something the Borg had encountered   
before.   
They scanned for that anomaly but came up empty.  
She was frankly, at a loss.  
She sat at the edge of her bed, rubbing her aching forehead.  
Somehow, emergencies mostly happened when she was tired and wrung   
out, not when she was happy and chirpy. She huffed in amusement.  
Her thoughts returned to the Assassin Tom.  
That was what they called him now, because that was what he was.   
Tuvok said that his fighting techniques were reminiscent of Ancient   
Vulcan martial arts, something Romulans and Vulcans inherited from   
their common ancestors. The arts were lost on Vulcan, because it was   
deemed too violent. Now they were subjects of Academic study, real life   
admonishments and a reason to comply with the dictates of Logic. On   
Romulus, it was rumoured to have been the exclusive fighting technique   
of a class of Assassins loyal to the Emperor, now long extinct.   
Theoretically, *shar-bokku* (as the art was known) was extinct.  
How he came upon that knowledge was another matter.   
As for Thomas- how had the accident happened? Was he aware of his   
limitations, of what he had lost?  
Despite them coming from different dimensions, she was concerned   
for them, just as she was concerned for the one that was in a coma.   
What she saw in *them* disturbed her because they were possibilities of   
how *her* Tom would have turned out.  
And now, Lieutenant Paris was in a coma. The list of troubles   
went on and on.  
"I'm sorry, Kathryn, but I had to put him to sleep."  
Janeway turned around in alarm and tapped her commbadge   
instinctively. "Janeway to Security, intruder alert!"  
Immediately red alert rang throughout the ship.  
She detected a movement to her right.  
"Computer! Lights on!"  
The computer obeyed immediately, and Janeway saw her visitor   
clearly.  
The alien was obsidian in colour, it's skin so black that it   
seemed to absorb light. Golden, pupil-less eyes regarded her.  
"Who are you?" she demanded, reaching for the phaser that was   
tucked in the uniform draped across her bed.  
"There is no need for that," the alien said, its voice high and   
resonant. "I will bring you no danger."  
Now that she thought about it, this alien did fit the Assassin's   
description of the creature that had attacked him.  
"I don't think so," she said, whipping out her phaser to train it   
on the alien.  
"I am not the one that attacked Tom Paris. I am looking for him,   
actually," the alien said, as if reading her mind.  
"Tom Paris?" Janeway asked, her hand tightening on the phaser.  
"No," the alien said, shaking her head, sending red curls   
tumbling about. "Lyssiss. The one who nearly killed the one you call   
Assassin."  
"You read my mind?" Janeway demanded.  
The alien shrugged. "In a manner of speaking."  
Just then, the doors to her quarters burst open, but Janeway   
gestured to the security officers to stand down.  
"So I take it that you're responsible for bringing him and the   
other one on board my ship."  
"That is correct," the alien inclined her head.  
"Why?"  
"To trap Lyssiss. To save them."  
"Is that why you put Tom in a coma?" it didn't make sense. None   
of it did.  
"I'm sorry I had to do that, but it is for your protection, to   
bide time. With this dimension's Tom Paris in a coma, Lyssiss would not   
be able to detect his presence. It will take time for him to find the   
others, and I have to be ready for him. We need to talk, Captain."  
  
  
***  
  
The senior members of her crew stared at the alien in suspicion   
and fascination. `She' - for her name was Jorel, sat in the middle   
seat, blinking her golden eyes lazily as she looked around.  
"I am from a Dimension where all dimensions meet. It is in this   
place that we live, and observe the lives of other dimensions.  
"You believe that there are other dimensions, separate yet   
slightly similar to yours?" Jorel asked.  
Janeway nodded. "Yes. Universes with different possibilities   
existing together. That's a part of temporal theory."  
Jorel nodded. "Oversimplified, but it will do. There are millions   
of dimensions, Kathryn. Some are so similar that the difference could   
be very minute - different colour for eyes, a smile instead of a frown.   
My people plot these dimensions in a series of lines. The further one   
dimension is from another, the more different the dimension is from the   
other. You understand, yes?" she asked.   
Jorel did not ask it in a condescending manner, but asked it in a   
way a teacher taught his student. From the beginning, Jorel had not   
called her Captain, instead, preferring to use her first name. But she   
said it in a respectful manner, as if her first name meant more than   
her station.  
Janeway nodded and Jorel continued.  
"Lyssiss became obsessed with failure. All of us were assigned an   
individual to `watch'. We patrol the dimensions like you patrol your   
`outer space'."  
Again Jorel waited for her to acknowledge that she understood.   
Janeway nodded impatiently.  
"Lyssiss watched Tom Paris. And he was disturbed by what he saw.   
In some dimensions like this one, Tom Paris had retribution, and was   
`saved'. But there were other dimensions - Thomas' and the   
Assassin's...that he considered failures."  
The senior members of the crew exchanged puzzled glances.  
"Failures in destiny," Jorel explained, fixing her golden eyes on   
some members of the senior crew. "With Thomas he gave in to his despair   
and attempted suicide, only to survive and live out his life as a   
quarter of what he was. With the Assassin, he led a life of violence,   
coming close to killing his father. Do you understand?" Again Jorel   
asked.  
Janeway nodded, feeling sickened at the revelation of the Assasin   
and Thomas' past.  
"So he considers them failures because they led their lives in a   
less...pleasing way? Because they didn't live up to *his* expectations on   
what a `successful' destiny was?!" B'Elanna demanded angrily.   
Jorel looked pained - she bowed her head. "It is indeed true. It   
is painful and shameful that he would use his powers to manipulate the   
Dimensions...and kill. Lyssis had already killed two alternate versions   
of Tom Paris before he tried to take Thomas and the Assassin. He will   
not stop until he has killed them. And many more."  
"Why is he doing this?" Janeway asked. "Why Tom?"  
Jorel gave her a small smile. "I cannot tell you more, Kathryn.   
My very presence here is a violation of everything we stand for. The   
Prime Directive?" Jorel gave her a smile.  
So these beings have their own version of non-interference with   
alien cultures. Only with them, it was dimensions. Janeway nodded.  
"But we realized that we had to stop Lyssiss. I had snatched the   
Assassin and Thomas before he could kill them and have brought them   
here, on `neutral ground', where he will not harm this dimension's Tom   
Paris. Lyssiss has followed me to this dimension, and he will be here   
soon."  
Janeway stood up, alarmed. "You said you placed Tom in a coma to   
prevent that!"  
"Not prevent, delay," Jorel said. "The confrontation will come,   
Captain. He knew that to find the other Paris', he had to find the Tom   
Paris in this dimension. Kind leads to kind," Jorel said, nodding.  
"These different versions of Tom...they're bound together some   
way?"  
"In a manner of speaking, yes."  
"And what happens once Lyssiss find him?" Janeway asked.  
Jorel seem to consider before answering. "Before he comes, he   
will send out...`beings' to search for them. This will signal that his   
approach is near."  
"Beings?" Chakotay asked, his tone saying that he didn't really   
like the sound of it.  
Jorel shifted her gaze to the First Officer. "Creatures that you   
will never find in this world. They scour the dimensions for us. They   
serve us, unfortunately, mindlessly, without thought of right and   
wrong."  
"Are these beings dangerous?"  
"No. Unless..." Jorel did a good imitation of a frown.  
"Unless?" Harry prompted, leaning forward.  
"Unless he altered them someway. It can be done. But to that...no,   
he *would* never do that."  
"What makes you so sure?" Janeway demanded, leaning back with a   
heavy frown on her brow. "He has bent the rules before, what makes you   
think he'll stop at this one?"  
Jorel looked disturbed at her argument. "I will protect them.   
Until then, do not separate them. They must be together at all times."  
There was silence for a while.  
"So what should we do before Lyssiss comes? Wait?" Chakotay   
asked, breaking the tense silence.  
"Indeed. We wait," Jorel answered matter-of-factly.   
  
  
***  
Sickbay  
  
  
They must be together at all times.  
It seemed easy, but with the Assassin, it was difficult to say.   
Six security men guarded the sickbay - two outside, four inside. They   
were taking no chances this time. The Assassin had been thoroughly   
checked for more hidden weapons, but even weaponless, no one could   
estimate how dangerous he could be.   
He sat cross-legged on the floor behind a forcefield enclosed   
area of the sickbay, looking exhausted and pale.   
He lifted his icy blue eyes to hers when she approached him.  
"What have you done to me?" he accused, his eyes blazing with   
hatred.   
Janeway lifted her chin, staring at the mirror-copy of her   
helmsman dispassionately.  
"Only what you deserve," she answered coolly.  
In a burst of unexpected strength, Tom got to his feet and   
stepped to the edge of the forcefield, his face mere inches from hers.  
"Answer me!" he growled.  
The security guard behind her grew nervous, moving forward to   
protect her. She lifted a hand to assure him.  
"It is temporary," she answered. The Doctor had informed her that   
Seven's micro-tetrion nannites had worked perfectly and had blocked the   
implant's signals to the brain, effectively shutting it down. The   
deactivation would disorient him badly, and it would cause him to   
behave erratically.   
But they could not deactivate the implant for too long. It would   
kill him. That much was clear - especially when she saw him suddenly   
swaying on his feet.  
She resisted the instinctive impulse to help him, instead, she   
watched him stumble to the biobed and grasp it for support.  
After a while, he turned to look at her. What she saw there made   
her pause for a while. It was confusion. Then it was gone, replaced   
with resignation. Tom slumped to the floor, suddenly exhausted.  
Her face softened, and despite what he had done, she felt pity at   
his plight. What circumstance had driven him to such a condition,   
dependent on brain implants?  
Whatever it was that drove him to talk was gone now. After a   
minute of his silence, Janeway left him with the guards.   
  
***  
  
"Jared, I told you not to go to that creek, didn't I?"  
His son looked upset, especially now when his cut had to be   
stitched up.  
"Hold still," he told him.  
"It hurts, daddy," his son whimpered, trying to pull his hand   
from his.  
"Just for a while." How he wished for a skin regenerator.   
Anything but this barbaric method of treatment.  
Mereen seemed unfazed though. "Listen to your papa, Jared. It   
will be over soon," she said as she handed him some gauze.  
"Jared, if you want to go to the creek, I'll take you there, how   
about that?" he said, hoping to distract his son as he lay in his first   
stitch.  
"Really?" Jared's eyes brightened. Then suddenly he yelped. "Ow!"   
Then he began to cry. Tom did his job quickly, cursing with every   
stitch. He hated hurting his son.  
"I'll take you fishing, youll like that won't you?" he said as he   
put in the last stich.  
Jared sniffed but tried to act brave. "You'll let me put in the   
bait?"  
He threw his son a gentle smile. "I'll even let you hold the rod,   
how about that?"  
Jared smiled brightly.  
  
He opened his eyes, disoriented for a moment. Had he fallen   
asleep after treating Jared? No...that didn't sound right. Something had   
happened. Something very wrong.  
He was sitting up, lying against something on his right side. He   
was faintly aware that his body was shivering and that sweat beaded his   
forehead. He opened his bleary eyes and stared at the blinking lights   
around him. And as he took in his alien surroundings, he began to   
panic. Where was he? Where was Jared? Mereen?  
Confusing memories flooded his brain. Scenes that didn't make   
sense - a Romulan woman weeping, his father glaring angrily at him. And   
Mereen hanging from a tree-  
He groaned, trying to make sense of the images.  
Slowly, his memories began to reorder themselves, and he   
remembered every painful detail. His wife's suicide. His son, cold in   
his lonely grave on that backwater planet. And then the neuro-syringe-  
He felt a sudden surge of hatred.  
They did this to him! Those Federation bastards!  
There was a movement to his left. He turned abruptly, glaring at   
the intruder with red rimmed eyes. But he wasn't fooling anybody. He   
had the strength of a day-old targ pup.  
It was a bald headed man in a blue uniform, and he held a   
hypospray in his hand.  
"This will help you," he said. "And don't try anything with me.   
I'm a hologram," the man said wryly.  
A hologram? He looked around in panic. Wasn't he in the Shima   
Territory?   
He felt the man administer the hypospray to his neck. He barely   
reacted to it as he tried to make sense of his situation.  
"You're disoriented. But it'll pass. Any improvements?"  
He blinked, and the man - obviously a Doctor - was right. Clarity   
was beginning to return. With it, the memories of the past few hours.   
Anger turned to bitterness at his failure. He felt shame burning so   
brightly in his heart that he wanted to die of it. He did not deserve   
to be Sharbokh.  
He glared at the Doctor, accusation in his eyes.  
"I see you're better already," the Doctor quipped.  
"What have you done to me?" he demanded. He had not received an   
answer from Janeway the last time, and was too disoriented to ask   
further.  
"That'll take too long to explain, and under the circumstances -   
especially after what you did to the eight security men that just went   
through my doors - a very foolish thing to do," the Doctor said dryly.  
He gave the Doctor a contemptuous glare. "*You* did this to me!"   
he accused.  
The Doctor sighed. "Leave it to the Romulans to suspect a   
hologram. Not that you are one, though I suspect the implant is   
responsible for that `pleasant' side of your personality," he rambled   
as he studied the tricorder on his left hand.  
Tom struggled to get to his feet, but everything swam wildly   
around him. He cursed.  
So did the Doctor. He felt firm hands grab his shoulders and help   
him sit on the biobed.  
"This can't go on for too long," he heard the Doctor mutter.  
Suddenly Tom was too tired to think further. He sank down on the   
biobed and curled on his side, disoriented again, dreaming once more of   
Shalak Nor and what he had left behind.   
  
***  
The Captain's Ready Room  
  
"Captain, we have to deactivate Seven's micro-tetrion device.   
It's killing him," the Doctor said.  
"I advise caution. It could be a ploy. Deactivating the device   
could be a serious error in judgement," Seven said, her eyes narrowing   
with disapproval.  
"Nevertheless," Tuvok broke in coolly. "It would also be a   
serious error in judgement if he were to perish. It could affect the   
stability of his dimension."  
Janeway sighed. "I have considered these arguments in my head   
myself," the Captain answered. "And I've made my decision long before   
you made yours, Doctor."  
The Doctor bent forward a little in anticipation.   
She couldn't help but give him a tiny smile. "Deactivate Seven's   
device. Let this be a warning that if he tries to escape again or harm   
a hair on my crew, we can easily reactivate it and incapacitate him."  
"A Crosari Tracker," Seven commented, lifting an eyebrow.  
"Seven?" Janeway swiveled her chair to study the former Borg.  
"Species 879. They implanted a neuro-disruptor in the brains of   
their social deviants to control them. They were able to wander around   
freely, but were at the mercy of their controllers who activated the   
device whenever they pleased. Usually without cause," Seven informed   
them dispassionately.  
The Doctor looked sickened. "That's barbaric!" the Doctor cried.  
"I agree," Janeway said, her voice flat. She knew what Seven was   
getting at, and the comparison did not please her. "But we're not   
...Species 879. We only do it *only* when it's necessary."  
"Of course," Seven answered coolly, as if thoughts to the   
contrary did not occur to her.  
"Doctor, get on with it," she heaved a big sigh and looked at   
Tuvok as Seven and the Doctor exited her ready room. "Tuvok. I suggest   
you put in a full security watch 24/7 in the Sickbay."  
He only nodded.   
  
________________  
Chapter 8  
Sickbay  
Day 4 1405 hours  
  
  
Thomas couldn't stop crying and wailing.  
"Shut him up, or I shall," growled the Assassin from his corner.  
The Doctor shot him a glare. "Say one more threatening word and   
I'll reactivate the micro-tetrion device. Gladly."  
The Assassin merely glared back.  
"Sour tempered Romulan wannabe..." the Doctor grumbled beneath his   
breath.  
Samantha Wildman was doing her best to soothe Thomas, but he   
batted her hands away as if her touch hurt him. The Doctor felt   
uncomfortable looking at Thomas - it reminded him too much of a child   
in a temper tantrum.  
"Now, Thomas! Here's the ball, play with the ball now!" he   
coaxed, showing Thomas the ball.  
Thomas howled louder, batting the ball from his hands. The Doctor   
sighed, growing desperate. Perhaps the Assassin was right. He should   
sedate him.  
Then he caught something from the series of howls and wails   
Thomas made. It was a word. Not very clear, but it was definite.   
Samantha watched him curiously as he squinted and listened. There it   
was! It was one word:  
"Dog!" he exclaimed.  
"Doctor?" Samantha wondered out loud.  
"He's asking for a dog. Maybe he had a pet back home that he was   
attached to. What dog did Lieutenant Paris have?"  
"Er...he had a few. His favourite was a Golden Retriever named   
Buster-"  
"Alright! Buster it is!" the Doctor walked determinedly to the   
medical station, calling up a series of commands. "Computer, build a   
holographic projection of a Golden Retriever, aged two years. Download   
the matrix at my command-"  
"Acknowledged."  
He entered a series of commands and told the computer to activate   
the projection. There was a mild hum, and then a Golden Retriever   
padded into the middle of the room.  
The doctor held his breath, watching the Golden Retriever and   
Thomas.  
Thomas stopped crying, staring at amazement at the dog. Then he   
said the word again, this time clearly: "Dog," he cooed.  
The dog wagged his tail and padded to Thomas. When it reached   
him, Thomas gave the dog a hug. It licked his cheek enthusiastically.  
Beside him, Samantha Wildman heaved a sigh of relief, throwing   
the Doctor a glad smile. The Doctor felt quite proud of himself,   
grinning broadly.  
The Assassin got up from the biobed on which he sat. He gave the   
Doctor a strange look and moved to another corner.  
The Doctor wondered what it meant, but the look the Assassin gave   
him filled him with a sudden determination to make things better for   
Thomas.  
He looked at the careful reports he had typed out on his PADD.   
Taking in a deep breath, he scooped them up and headed for the   
Captain's ready room.  
  
  
When Jorel said they should wait, she didn't tell them that it   
could take weeks, even months. Apparently, time had no meaning for   
their kind. Janeway was not amused.  
They had released the Assassin from his bonds, and he was allowed   
limited movement in the sickbay behind his forcefield. Meanwhile, the   
Doctor spent an inordinate amount of time with Thomas. And it soon   
became clear why.  
"Captain, I believe I can heal the damaged portions of his   
brain," the Doctor said in her ready room.  
Janeway suspected as much. Because of their time in the Delta   
Quadrant, the Doctor had picked up some advanced medical knowledge -   
especially from the Vidians and the Borg.  
"Denara Pel taught me some regenerative techniques when she was   
here. It's so simple, Captain. All I have to do is get some nanites   
from Seven-"  
Janeway sighed. "Out of the question."  
The Doctor was stumped. "But Captain-"  
"I know you're concerned about Thomas, Doctor. But we do not know   
what will happen to his Dimension if he returns home cured. We simply   
can't risk that."  
"But how about the other two dimensions, Captain? The Tom Paris'   
in those dimensions are dead, and somehow these `beings' are not   
running around in a panic!"  
Janeway was quiet. Part of her was very tempted to allow the   
Doctor to continue with his treatment. She had watched Thomas the other   
day and had seen him caressing the controls by his biobed the same way   
Tom had at the helm. He had noticed her studying him, and the look he   
had given her had haunted her - it was a look of sadness and confusion.   
Somehow he knew that there should be something more to his existence,   
but there was nothing he could do to find out what it was. Janeway was   
certain that Thomas remembered something of his old life.  
"We can't let him live out the rest of his life like this when we   
hold the cure! It's like denying a dying man his medicine!" the Doctor   
argued heatedly.  
Janeway glared at the Doctor. "It is not the same thing, Doctor.   
Thomas is not dying."  
"He deserves to be cured, Captain. It's his right."  
Janeway sighed, knowing how right he was.  
"He is correct, Kathryn. He deserves to be cured."  
Janeway and the Doctor regarded Jorel in surprise. She had   
appeared out of nowhere.   
"But the Dimensions-"  
"Will hold," Jorel said softly, her golden eyes regarding her   
seriously. Janeway frowned - she recognized that look. It was the same   
look she had when she bent the rules to save her crew.  
"You're breaking the rules, aren't you? Why?"  
Jorel merely inclined her head and said softly but clearly:  
"Everyone deserves a second chance."  
But the Captain did not let the matter go so easily. She demanded   
an explanation from Jorel, and soon their conversation lapsed into   
temporal-mechanic goobbledygook that the Doctor would have preferred   
not to hear. But after an hour of heated debate, the Captain finally   
said.  
"Alright, Doctor. You can proceed."  
He blinked, wondering whether his hearing subroutines were   
damaged - and decided to leave before the Captain changed her mind.  
"Alright, Jorel. You convinced me. Now, I want to know what we're   
going to do when Lyssiss makes his appearance."  
When Jorel explained, Janeway was furious.  
"You're using Thomas and the Assassin as bait?" Janeway asked   
furiously.  
"And Lieutenant Paris as well," added Jorel.  
"Not a member of my crew!" Janeway snapped.  
"He will find the others through your crew member, Kathryn. If   
you build the shield according to my parameters, then they will be   
safe. Lyssiss will not be able to enter the shield and kill them - and   
he needs to touch them to kill."  
"Alright. Say we build the shield to your parameters. What then?"  
"I will remove him."  
"Just you?"  
"I am enough."  
Janeway sighed. It didn't sound like a good plan, but it *was* a   
plan. "Alright we'll do it your way. I'll get Seven and B'Elanna to   
work on it immediately."  
"Good," Jorel nodded.  
  
  
  
________________  
Chapter 9  
Sickbay  
Day 6, 0200 hours  
  
  
He felt strange.  
Tom opened his eyes, and realized that he was looking at a   
biobed. The clarity of thought surprised him, and he wondered why he   
should be.   
He heard humming in the background, and his ears picked up faint   
beeping noises of machines. He put two and two together and realized   
that the humming in the background was a warp engine, and that he was   
in a sickbay of some sort.  
Tom lifted himself up so that he sat on the bed. He looked around   
in the semi-darkness and wondered what in the world he was doing on a   
starship - a Federation starship at that - and in it's sickbay?  
He frowned, trying to remember.  
A faint memory stirred - confusing images of a lake, of being   
surrounded by water, panic as he tried to surface but couldn't.  
He shut his eyes, feeling dizzy suddenly.  
"Ah, you're awake!"  
The voice surprised him and he flinched away.  
A bald man in a Starfleet uniform - medical uniform, he realized   
- stood beside his bed, holding a medical tricorder. Why hadn't he   
heard him coming?   
Everything was such a confusing blur.  
The Doctor looked grave. "Do you understand what I'm saying,   
Thomas?" he asked slowly, as if he was speaking to a child.  
Tom felt faintly annoyed at the condescending tone and the fact   
that he used `Thomas', something only his father called him. Not that   
he liked it much - Admiral Paris only used it when he was about to give   
his son some serious tongue-lashing.  
"I should think so," he said sarcastically. Only it came it out   
as `I shlld thk sss'. He raised his eyebrows in alarm.  
"Don't worry, Thomas- it'll improve in time." The Doctor sounded   
delighted.  
"How is he?" came another voice. A woman's voice - soft and   
gravely.  
"The surgery was successful, Captain!" the Doctor said   
enthusiastically.   
The woman looked at him, smiling. She looked familiar. "Thomas.   
I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway - how are you feeling?"  
Kathryn Janeway. Now he remembered. His father talked about her   
often. She was the star pupil that he had to measure up to.  
"Dnt cl me Tmas," he muttered, feeling annoyed at his lisp.  
But the Captain understood. "I'm sorry Thomas, but we need to -   
for simplicity's sake."  
Tom looked at her in confusion. Then another memory resurfaced.   
He remembered coming home - he was in San Francisco, with Moira. No...no,   
Moira had gone away and she hadn't come back for a long time. Tom was   
confused by the jangle of memories and lapsed into silence, trying to   
sort them out.  
"Captain, I think we need to let him rest," the Doctor said   
softly.  
Janeway nodded and left him alone. Tom settled down on biobed,   
trying to remember more.  
  
***  
  
The `Assassin'...that's what they called him now, and he felt a   
taste of irony at the name. The Assassin...only in this world they knew   
his true identity.  
He had heard the conversation on the biobed between Thomas,   
Janeway and the Doctor and felt faintly...relieved.   
Thomas had disturbed him. He was, in every way - a copy of him.   
Only this copy was frightening - instead of the illustrious Starfleet   
officer of this dimension, Thomas was a mentally disabled man who   
played with toys and cooed at holographic dogs. He wanted to strike   
Thomas dead - because he reminded him of how close he had come to that   
road.  
Before Terrak saved him, he had been an addict of Lintz, and if   
he had not saved him, he would have damaged his brain the same way   
Thomas had when he drowned or suffocated himself. Yet, each time he   
looked at Thomas, he felt no sympathy but fear and revulsion.  
So now Thomas was given back his mind. He was given a second   
chance at life.  
Suddenly, the Assassin was envious.  
  
***  
  
  
"Elizabeth...we can settle things," said his father. Tom squinted   
to see the blurry shapes that moved before him, but everything appeared   
in a blur.   
"Stop it, Owen. You've done enough. Do you want to destroy my   
life as well?"   
Her voice startled him. Elizabeth Paris did not speak like that -   
so cold and angry. His mother was always warm and friendly, even when   
Dad was being his most difficult, Elizabeth Paris never sounded harsh.   
He saw his father turn towards him.  
"Go play with Buster, Tom," Owen said gently - he hadn't spoken   
like that to him in years. "Go on..." he said.  
Tom opened his eyes, feeling disturbed by his dream.  
There were others as well. Kathleen, talking to him in low tones   
in words he did not understand. Dreams about suffocating,   
drowning...Moira - Moira shouting at his father and never coming back.   
And in the dreams, he felt sluggish and slow, as if he looked from   
beneath thick layers of gauze.  
  
He sat up.  
"You should lie down, Thomas."  
"Are we at Starfleet Medical?" he asked, ignoring the Doctor's   
advice.  
The Doctor paused. "No, we're on board USS Voyager. We're on a   
starship."  
"I suspected as much," he said. Then he realized that he was   
speaking normally. He smiled.  
The Doctor returned the smile. "You're coming along quite well,   
Thomas. Soon, you'll be fully recovered."  
Tom frowned. "Why did the Captain say that she had to call me   
Thomas for simplicity's sake?"  
The Doctor looked uncomfortable at the question.  
Then he decided on a more important question. "What happened to   
me?"  
The Doctor perked up, but he looked guarded still.  
"How much do you remember?"  
Tom shrugged. "I remember being in the Academy. I remember...the   
accident, Caldik Prime-" he gave the Doctor a pointed look, as if he   
expected him to react in surprise. The Doctor merely nodded. He knew   
that part of Tom Paris' history well enough. "And the trial. Leaving   
home. That's it. After that, everything is a blur. Sometimes, it's   
frightening."  
"Go on," the Doctor coaxed.  
Tom frowned. "I dreamt that I was drowning," he shook his head as   
if to clear the frightening images. "I wanted to swim up, but I had no   
strength. Is that what happened to me? Did I drown?"  
The Doctor sighed. "We're not sure, but we suspect something of   
that nature."  
"Didn't Starfleet Medical send you my medical records?" Tom   
asked, perplexed.  
"Well...we're not exactly near Starfleet Medical right now."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Maybe you should rest, Thomas."  
"I want to know, Doctor," he said firmly.  
The Doctor looked uncomfortable.  
"You tried to kill yourself," said a voice.  
Tom jumped and paled when he saw *himself*.   
*He* was behind a forcefield, an arm braced against the wall as   
he leaned casually against it. His hair was long, tied in braids which   
cascaded to his shoulders. It was his eyes that disturbed him the most.   
They were...cruel.   
"Mr. Paris!" the Doctor barked.  
Tom could only stare in fascination at his double - he had a   
hard, steely look about him that unnerved him. But he was strong -that   
much he could see. The form before him was lithe and muscular.   
Everything about him spelt danger.  
"He asked a question, didn't he? I answered it," the man answered   
coolly. He gave the doctor a cynical smile. "And isn't my new name   
`Assassin' - for simplicity's sake?" he mocked.  
"I thought it was ridiculous," the Doctor muttered. "No one   
should be called by what they...do."  
"They named you the same way," the man said.  
The Doctor was about to retort when he was interrupted by another   
voice.  
"Say, Doc! I think you better do something with my vision because   
I'm seeing double here," said another voice.  
And all three turned to see a bleary-eyed Tom Paris in Starfleet   
uniform stumbling towards them.  
"Sleeping Beauty awakens," said the Assassin, a cynical grin on   
his face.   
  
  
__________________  
Chapter 10  
Sickbay  
Day 8 1002 hours  
  
  
Talk about a weird day. Or rather, a weird week - since they told   
him that he had been in a coma - a coma! - for a week.  
All because some inter-dimensional being wanted alternate   
versions of him dead.  
It was weird, but he felt no satisfaction for passing the `test'   
and not being a `failure' to the being. When he looked at the Assassin   
and Thomas, he felt a stab of remembered self-revulsion and fear. He   
could've easily been either of them.  
B'Elanna had grabbed some free time to tell him about the two,   
and the story was not pleasant. Assassin was well, an assassin who had   
an implant in his head. When he had come onboard, he had taken Samantha   
Wildman hostage, nearly killed four of Tuvok's best men and killed two   
others. He thought he was a Romulan and worse, acted like one.  
Thomas, on the other hand was the complete opposite. Just a few   
days ago, he had been a child in a 28-year-old man's body until the   
Doctor healed the damaged portions of his brain. He had ended up   
disabled because he had drowned in the very lake behind his house in   
San Francisco.  
The thought unnerved him.   
Mom would've been devastated if that had happened. She would've   
blamed herself because it was *her* lake, and her son had drowned in   
it. He looked at Thomas' back, as he slept on his side.  
The Assassin in his corner, sat cross-legged in some kind of   
meditative pose. As he stared, the man's eyes shot open. They glared   
balefully at him.   
"How long must we wait?" he suddenly growled.  
Tom looked for the Doc's reaction.  
"I don't know," the Doctor replied peevishly. It must have been   
the gazzilionth time the Assassin had asked him the question.  
"If the creature wants to kill me, release me so I can face him!   
I am not bait for that creature!" he spat.   
"I thought we *were* bait." Tom just *had* to add that.  
The Assassin glared at him, his blue eyes staring piercingly at   
him as if he was doing an imaginary dissection on him right then.  
"Just wonderful," the Doctor muttered. "Three Parises in the same   
room. What did I do to deserve this?"  
Tom chuckled. The Assassin narrowed his eyes and looked away.  
He sighed. *That* version of him was one major grump.  
Just then, the sickbay doors slid open. Seven, B'Elanna and the   
Captain entered.   
He signaled B'Elanna desperately. Get me out!" he mouthed to her.   
"I don't think so," his wife mouthed back, smiling. But beneath that   
smile he sensed worry. He wanted to tell her everything would be all   
right, but he wasn't sure himself. Especially when the obsidian   
coloured alien entered the Sickbay.  
"Whoa!" he jumped up from the biobed.  
"Easy, Lieutenant. She's alright," the Captain said.  
"I'm glad you're feeling better, Tom," said the alien. Tom   
thought that it was the most mysterious voice he had heard - it was   
high and resonant, like a musical instrument.  
"I feel like a million bars of latinum," he answered. "Only I   
feel a little weird because there's three of me."  
"Understandable," said the alien.  
"Tom, we have to move all of you to Cargo Bay 2 now," Janeway   
said, her eyes betraying her concern.  
Tom nodded. "Where we'll be the proverbial worm on the hook," he   
said.  
"Jorel-" Janeway nodded to the alien, "-awakened you because she   
wants Lyssiss to find you."  
"The bad guy."  
Janeway grinned. "Yes, the bad guy. Once in the cargo bay, you   
will be placed underneath a special force field which will prevent   
Lyssiss from physically touching you."  
Tom nodded and gave B'Elanna a grave look. "Don't worry B'Elanna,   
it's just another routine assignment where I wait for the bad guy and   
kill him in the end," he threw a devil-may-care grin, but his eyes   
betrayed his nervousness.  
"Maybe I'll get some dinner ready for you tonight after the job   
is done. Maybe bake a turkey or something," she said after a long   
pause. Her attempt at humour made Tom chuckle. Hanging around him has   
had more than one effect on B'Elanna after all.  
"Don't forget the honey, dear," he said, throwing her a secretive   
smile.  
B'Elanna merely looked into his eyes and then slowly lowered her   
eyes suggestively. It made him look forward to getting into Jorel's   
trap so that he could get the whole thing done and over with as soon as   
possible.  
The Assassin gave him a mysterious look. A look which Tom   
completely ignored.  
  
  
***  
  
The cargo bay was dark.  
The one called Thomas watched the Assassin and the lieutenant,   
feeling strangely envious of them. The lieutenant was humming to   
himself as he sat cross-legged on the floor. The assassin merely stood   
near the surface of the shield, staring at nothing, facing away from   
them.  
Somehow the lieutenant caught him staring at him and met his   
eyes. Tom was not unnerved. He stared back.  
"You are the person I've always dreamed I would be," he finally   
said, feeling the old hurt resurface as he said the words.  
The lieutenant looked surprised. "Little old me? Stuck here in   
the Delta Quadrant, away from the Federation?"  
"But you still have the nasty habit of using humour when you're   
nervous," Tom said, leaning back against the stack of barrels behind   
him.  
The Lieutenant sighed and shifted himself nearer to him.   
"Look...Tom, I'm...I'm not a role model."  
"I didn't say you were," he replied.  
"I stand corrected then. The thing is, I know you - because you   
are *me*. You're feeling a whole sack of self-pity right now and I know   
what you've been through, because I've gone through Caldik Prime, the   
trial...and Odile's death," he said gravely.  
Tom studied his Starfleet counterpart; noticed the confident way   
he spoke, the happiness that was reflected in his eyes. *That* was what   
he wanted. Not some Starfleet rank.  
He remembered it all at last. The two terrifying years of fear   
and depression, and finally - the lake.   
"Did they visit you then?" he asked.  
The Lieutenant looked puzzled. "Who?"  
"Odile. Bruno...Charlie," he blinked away tears. He felt so weak   
and useless.  
The Lieutenant paled and leaned back against the barrels.  
"It wasn't so long ago," he merely said, his voice subdued. And   
it was like looking into a mirror. Tom could see the same guilt and   
fear mirrored on the Lieutenant's face.   
"Yes, they visited me. On board the USS Copernicus. I thought   
they'd come back to haunt me again and again, but after the trial, they   
never came back. They must have been satisfied that I confessed," he   
shook his head wryly.   
"They visited me. For two years. They were *never* satisfied,"   
Tom said softly, knowing that his eyes betrayed the pain and fear he   
felt. His voice sounded bitter to his ears.  
The Lieutenant look stricken. "I'm sorry. Nobody should live   
through that," he said softly.   
Tom had to continue. He was afraid that if he stopped, his   
cowardice would be with him forever.  
"Two years ago, Odile came to me at the place I thought I was the   
safest in the world. And I couldn't take it anymore. I lay on the muddy   
shore of Mom's lake, thinking that it all had to end. And then I   
realized, that *that* was what they wanted me to do. To end it. I was   
dragging them around with me, and I had to die so they could be free.   
So I did what I thought was right. I walked into the lake and drowned."  
He said it all in a frighteningly monotonous voice, devoid of all   
emotion. But his eyes became misty with tears - tears of his weakness.   
He hated himself for it. The assassin hid his pain with violence, the   
Lieutenant with humour, but he had nothing to hide under. He had been   
stripped of everything; his dignity, joy, even anger.  
"You think I'm a coward," he said.  
The Lieutenant shook his head. "No. I would have done the same   
thing. I *know.* My life wasn't a picnic - you think I'm some kind of   
model of `greatness' or perfection," he snorted. "Truth was, I was   
pretty much on my way to the pits of hell before I confessed. I joined   
the Maquis, worse, got myself captured on my first mission. It was a   
Dad-Oh-So-Proud moment," he muttered sarcastically. He was quiet for a   
while, then gave Thomas a hard look.  
"You aren't weak or a coward if you survive and grow strong again. You   
have to remember that," he said.  
Tom nodded. "You...have a good life, Lieutenant. Despite what   
you've been through, you have a wife, friends who love you and you can   
fly," he said the last word longingly. "Don't ever forget that."  
The Lieutenant nodded, his face grave. "I never have. Not for a   
minute."  
They sat in the cargo bay waiting for it happen.  
But Lyssis never came.  
  
***  
Captain's Ready Room  
  
  
"I do not understand," Jorel said.  
That was something Janeway did not want to hear from the inter-  
dimensional alien.   
"He must have been expecting you," Chakotay said.  
"The bait has been cast, but the fish is too wary to grab it,"   
Janeway muttered, her eyes blazing with annoyance.  
"What will he do next?" B'Elanna asked, her voice strained.  
Jorel did not reply.  
Janeway knew that that was not a good sign.  
"Will there be reinforcements?" she demanded.   
Again, silence.  
Janeway wanted to rail against the alien. How could you let this   
happen? She wanted to scream. Jorel looked helpless, as if she had   
never been in this situation before.  
"He has grown unpredictable. He is more determined than I   
imagine," she said.  
"I'll say," Janeway muttered sarcastically. "Don't you have   
security measures to prevent something like this?"   
Jorel looked chagrined. "This has never happened before. My   
people do not even know the meaning of war, let alone...murder," she   
sounded pained. "We do not kill. Never," she said vehemently.  
Janeway did not know what to say. Neither did any of the crew.  
Finally, Harry spoke up. "Isn't there anything to prevent him   
from entering this dimension?"  
Jorel look askance at Harry. "That would kill him. We do not   
kill."  
"Well, don't kill him then!" B'Elanna shot back. "Shackle him.   
Imprison him. Just stop him!"   
"B'Elanna," Janeway admonished. The half-Klingon fell silent, but   
anger still simmered in her dark eyes. "Well?" she asked Jorel.  
Jorel stood up uncertainly. "There is a way...but it will cause him   
great pain. None of us has done it before. Theoretically, it is   
possible...but...it goes against everything we believe in!"  
Janeway frowned. "Jorel," she grated.  
"Alright, Captain," Jorel said before she could continue. "I   
shall-"  
The shimmer was barely perceptible at first. Then it became   
obvious that Jorel was...flickering.  
"Captain?" Harry asked, half rising from his seat.  
"Jorel!" Janeway called out - reaching out for the alien.  
"No, Captain!" Tuvok restrained her hand. They watched helplessly   
as the flickering increased. Jorel disappeared and reappeared, and each   
time she became clear again, the pain in her features increased. Jorel   
looked shocked, and Janeway knew why. The `something that was not done   
before' was being done now. To *her*.  
There was a blast of light and a piercing scream. It felt as if   
the whole universe shook - then the universe shifted to normal.  
It left them disoriented and breathless.  
Chakotay was the first to regain his breath. "Looks like Jorel   
will not be the first to employ that little trick after all. Lysiss has   
beaten her to it," Chakotay wheezed.  
Janeway stared at the empty spot where Jorel was, her mind   
whirling. How could they stop something that could do *that*?  
  
  
***  
Sickbay  
  
"You're kidding."  
"Wish I was," said the First Officer seriously, his arms folded.  
"You have a talent for understatement, Chakotay. Where's my   
wife?"  
Chakotay lifted an eyebrow at his abrupt change of subject.   
"Here, Tom," B'Elanna said as she entered the sickbay. "I was   
studying the bipolar energy discharge Jorel left when-"  
"Enough of that," Tom muttered as he walked to his wife. He   
wrapped her in a hug.  
B'Elanna looked surprised, but she returned his hug, wrapping her   
arms securely around his.  
"I missed you," he said when he broke the embrace.  
B'Elanna, never one to show affection openly in public could only   
nod. Her eyes flickered to the Assassin who sat on the floor, his eyes   
closed, then to Thomas, who pretended not to notice their public   
display of affection. He wasn't pretending very well.  
"Now that we've got that out of the way, I want you to stay away   
from me," Tom said.  
"What?" B'Elanna's brown wrinkled in puzzlement. Her voice had a   
dangerous tone to it.  
"Uh-oh," he heard Chakotay mutter in the background.  
"I've got an inter-dimensional being on my tail!" Tom protested.  
"And you decided to play knight in shining armour and rescue your   
fair damsel from peril?" B'Elanna asked sarcastically.  
"Well-"  
B'Elanna gave him a shove. "That has never worked, helmboy. And   
if you think being gallant at a time like this is amusing-"  
"B'Elanna, I don't want anything to happen to you," Tom was   
deadpan serious.  
B'Elanna's expression softened. "I know. And I don't want   
anything to happen to you, either. So just shut up," she added gruffly.  
  
Thomas watched the exchange in fascination.  
They obviously love each other. Will I find that when I return   
to Earth?  
And then he thought about what Chakotay said about Jorel.  
If I return  
When they began to kiss, right in the middle of sickbay, Thomas   
turned away in embarrassment.   
He saw the Assassin studying the couple with a strange look. He   
looked almost...sad...as if he remembered something that hurt him.  
The man noticed his stare and returned it, his blue eyes flashing   
hotly. Thomas turned away again, annoyed and disturbed.  
"He is an assassin," he heard the Assassin speak up. Wondering if   
the man spoke to him, Thomas turned to look. But the man's eyes were   
centered on the first officer.  
B'Elanna and Tom broke from their intimate embrace. The half-  
Klingon looked embarrassed.   
Chakotay walked to the Assassin's cell, regarding him silently.   
Tom got up and walked to the shield, so near to Chakotay that they were   
mere inches apart.  
"So he thinks like one. And he will strike when you least expect   
it, where you think you're the safest," he said. The Assassin looked   
up. "In fact, he is on the ship now, waiting for the right moment to   
strike."  
Then the assassin shifted his eyes to meet Chakotay's. His lips   
stretched to a cold smile.  
"That's what I would have done," he said.  
Thomas shivered.  
  
  
***  
  
The lake was cold.  
But it was the right thing to do.  
He took a step. And then another. Odille was before him, gliding   
away from him, beckoning him to the right thing.  
Release us, she was saying. Release us from this hell you put us   
in.  
They were rotting, wasting away because he was still here. They   
were waiting for him to join them. He wasn't supposed to survive   
Chaldik Prime. Because of his error, they were condemned to live this   
living death.  
It all made sense now.  
He continued walking until he couldn't feel his feet anymore,   
then he tripped-  
-and sank like a stone.  
Immediately, he began to panic. His survival instincts overrode   
his desire to do the right thing and he trashed in the frigid waters to   
break the surface.  
But he couldn't - his arms were like lead. His feet - he couldn't   
feel them.  
His vision began to cloud, then it turned red, like blood.  
And he opened his mouth to take a desperate breath.  
But there was only water.  
Cold, slimy water.  
  
Thomas cried out in terror and came awake, his body shivering   
violently.  
"Thomas are you alright?" A voice asked him frantically.  
It took him a moment to focus on the Doctor. Thomas was dismayed   
when he saw a troupe of security men behind the Doctor, all looking   
incredibly concerned. Amazingly, Lieutenant Paris was snoring on his   
biobed, totally oblivious of the commotion.   
"I'm fine," he gulped. Then he glared at the security men. "Stop   
staring," he muttered.  
The Doctor gave the men a nod, and they left the sickbay.  
The lights were dimmed again, and Thomas was left with the Doctor   
who scanned him with his medical tricorder.  
"I'm fine," he said peevishly.  
"Well, a little distressed, but that's understandable. Did you   
have a nightmare?"  
Thomas didn't really want to say yes, but he nodded anyway.  
When he didn't elaborate further, the Doctor nodded. "Alright.   
I'll be here if you need me. Just call." With that, the Doctor walked   
to his dimly lighted office. When he was sure that the Doctor was gone,   
Thomas let out the shuddery breath he had kept in. He covered his face   
with his hands, and released a sob.   
Stop crying you weakling! he scolded, but a tear escaped. "Damn   
you," he cursed himself between sobs.  
"Did you dream of drowning?"  
He had forgotten about *him*.  
The Assassin studied him, his cold eyes seemed to glow in the dim   
light.  
"What do you want?" he snapped. His patience was tapped. The man   
could go to hell for all he cared.  
The man moved forward.  
"You went willingly," he said, undeterred.  
"Shut up," Thomas snapped, then casting a look at the medical   
office to make sure the Doctor had not notice. He had not.  
"What drove you to do such a cowardly act?" the man prodded.   
Curiously, his voice held no disgust or malice. It was flat, almost   
neutral - as if he was curious to know why.  
But Thomas flinched, stung. He was not going to take this. Not   
from this aberration.  
"What drove you to be a butcher? Killing men as if they were   
nothing? And doing it for a living! And you dare judge me, you - you   
abomination!" he shot back.   
He was furious, but he also wanted to know why. The man was him   
after all - a man who was driven down a different road. A harsher,   
crueler road.  
The Assassin leaned against the wall, giving him a wry smile.  
"Men *are* nothing. That's something you should know- *Thomas*."  
He said his name as if it amused him.  
"They said you nearly killed...Dad. Would you even kill your own   
child, too?" Thomas prodded further.   
The Assassin stiffened, his eyes widened in fury, his lips   
thinned into a grimace. Then he turned abruptly.  
"You would, wouldn't you?" Tom goaded.  
"If I were free...you would pay for that remark with a knife in   
your gut," he said almost casually. He still faced away from him.  
"That's it, isn't it?" Thomas said, getting off the bed. "You   
killed your son!"  
The Assassin's shoulders stiffened.  
"Didn't you?" he goaded.  
The man turned, staring hotly at him. Then his expression   
changed. Pain flashed across his hard features.  
"You don't know what you're saying," he said, his voice a   
whisper. Then the pain was gone, replaced with cold indifference.   
"Yes," he said after a moment, his expression unreadable once   
more. "I killed my son. And because of that, *I* am nothing."  
He turned away and walked into the darkness of his little cell.  
Thomas could only stare, wondering.  
  
***  
  
You killed your son, didn't you?  
  
Tom leaned against the wall, thinking. Thinking about things he   
should not be thinking about. Life in the Paris home, with its ordinary   
lake and the ordinary gardens. With that ordinary Starfleet career   
stretched out expectantly before his young life. His sisters, his   
loving mother, his doting father. The perfect family.  
Stop it Tom! He could hear Moira scolding him when he packed his   
bags. He had been furious, shoving clothes into the bag, not even   
bothering to check what he had packed. He was going to leave and never   
come back.  
Dad is just like that! She had said.  
And then he was pointing that gun in his face, ready to kill him.  
What do you think of your son now, Admiral?  
Jared, his neck broken, with his hands around his neck.  
You killed your son, didn't you?  
His heart was cold, a thing made of stone. Tom Paris died a long   
time ago.  
Then he felt someone staring at him again.  
Thinking it was Thomas, he ignored it. But it was persistent,   
like a needle poking his back.  
He hissed in anger and turned.  
His eyes widened.  
  
  
  
________________  
Chapter 11  
  
  
Lieutenant JG Thomas Eugene Paris dreamed.  
He was in Auckland, the prison, and he was sitting at his   
favourite spot, staring.  
He did that a lot. Thinking was his worse fault in the idyllic   
prison of the New Zealand Corrections Facility.   
It was a habit that the counselors took note of, and was the   
reason why they dragged him for counseling every once in a while to   
make sure he didn't do anything silly to himself, like slit his wrists   
or something.  
He stared at the stars above.  
He was thinking, Dad had not visited.  
Stop being a baby, Tom! he chided himself. His Starfleet   
career, ruined, ruined. He was not a Cadet anymore. He was not part of   
Starfleet either. What was he now?   
He gripped his hair in his fists, moaning in pain.  
Then his thoughts went still again. He lowered his hands and   
stared at the fluttering grass. He wasn't supposed to be here, he   
realized. He should have been in his quarters, asleep. His unlocked   
quarters - Starfleet had a laissez-faire policy with its prisoners. As   
long as you had that convenient tracking device strapped to your ankle,   
they're fine with you.  
"Tom?"  
He looked up. It was that Betazoid again. That half-Betazoid,   
that is. The one that liked to smile a lot. He frowned.  
"Isn't it a little late for a picnic?" she asked him. He hated   
her sense of humour. It never made him laugh.  
He looked away, keeping his eyes on the fluttering grass again.  
"Stop it, Tom."  
She had her hands on his face, forcing him to look away.  
"Tom, look at me. You must stop this. You don't have to die-" her   
voice trailed then she gasped.  
She held his hand, alarmed at the blood flowing heavily from his   
wrists.  
"Tom what did you do?" she cried out in shock, then lifted her   
hand to tap her commbadge.  
Then her eyes widened in pain.  
"You stop," he muttered, staring at the shard of glass that he   
plunged into her chest. "You talk too much."  
  
Wait a minute. It didn't happen this way! He had walked away,   
stumbling to his bedroom, ashamed of the suicidal thoughts that were   
swimming in his head then. He knew Troi had sensed them. He did not   
kill her!  
  
He was in a padded cell, gazing with empty eyes at his father.   
The admiral was disappointed. The admiral was sad.   
"Tom, can you hear me?" he said, his voice shaky. "For goodness   
sakes, answer me..."  
[He killed Counselor Troi. Then he returned to his quarters to   
kill four more inmates in their sleep. Then he went to bed, pulled the   
covers over himself and slept. Docs found him just in time. His bed was   
red with blood. Dripping, really. Now he's mad. Mad, mad, mad...]  
  
He was a Maquis, grinning and laughing as he shot Chakotay   
through the heart with his phaser."The Cardassians paid more, Indian   
man!"   
  
"No," he said, horrified. "It didn't happen this way. This isn't   
me! They are not me!"   
"Do you understand now, why I must kill them?"  
The voice startled him. He turned to see an obsidian skinned   
alien like Jorel looking at him. And he knew without a doubt that it   
was Lyssiss.  
"No..." he said. "They screwed up...but they deserved to live. Just   
like Thomas...and the Assassin. They could have had a second chance, but   
you took that away!"  
Lyssiss glided to him and whispered silkily as he placed a cold   
hand beneath his chin. "Say that again. This time, do not lie."  
  
***  
  
Tom Paris, the man who killed people for a living, stared at his   
son.   
"Hi, Daddy," Jared said. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. "Aren't   
we going fishing today?"  
Jared stood behind the force field, waiting for his response.  
He could only stare dumbly at the ghost.  
"Daddy? Aren't we?"  
"J-Jared," he stammered, his voice shaky. "Is that you?"  
Jared looked puzzled. "Of course it is, Daddy.   
He let out a tremulous breath. "No," he muttered. "He's dead."  
Jared waited. Then he stretched out his hand. It passed through   
the forcefield effortlessly. It hissed, then fizzled out.  
"Take my hand, Daddy, let's go fishing," Jared begged.  
He missed his son. He missed him so much. It hurt to think that   
his boy was decaying beneath alien soil, alone, so many light years   
away.  
"But I'm here, Daddy," Jared reassured him. "Just take my hand,   
and we'll leave this place-"  
He reached out. Just to make sure he was real.  
Then Jared screamed.  
A knife burst out from his chest and a mushroom of blood seeped   
through his nightclothes.  
"NO!" he screamed, reaching out for him.  
"Stop it!" he heard someone say. Someone was pulling him away.   
"He's not real!"  
He struggled violently in the man's grasp, in agony at the   
thought of losing his son again.  
Then his face snapped painfully to his right. He tasted blood   
from his cut lip.  
His head cleared abruptly.  
Thomas' was before him, shaking him. "He is not real!" he said   
again. Then he pointed to where Jared lay.  
Only it wasn't Jared.  
The creature was yellow in colour. It lay in a tangled heap, its   
many tentacles lying askew. It looked like an octopus.  
"How did you-"  
"The Doc's scalpel. I didn't think I could kill it - but, hey.   
We're not sticking around to find out, are we?"  
The Assassin brushed Thomas' hands away and got up, looking   
around with a heavy frown.  
"Sticking around where?" he asked.  
It was then that Thomas realized that they were no longer in the   
infirmary.  
And from the looks of the black, empty space around them - they   
were probably not on Voyager either.  
  
  
***  
  
Lieutenant Tom Paris froze.  
"Me? Lie?" he said nervously, giving the alien a plastic grin.  
Lyssiss frowned.  
"They must die," Lysiss said, as if it explained everything.  
"Why?" Tom demanded. "Because they're not perfect? I've screwed   
up spectacularly myself! Hell, kill me too while you're at it - I'm not   
exactly Mr. Perfect Destiny!"  
Tom gulped, realizing he had said too much.  
Lysiss stared at him, as if considering his words. Then he   
released him abruptly, turning away.  
"Hey, wait!" he called out, reaching out for the alien-  
The world around him evaporated and he found himself face to face   
with the Doctor.  
"Wait for what?" asked the Doctor, frowning heavily.  
He was on his biobed. In the infirmary. On Voyager. That was some   
dream, but somehow, Tom was quite sure that was not just a dream.  
Tom took a deep breath before replying. "Lysiss is here," then he   
saw the security personnel around them and the empty cell and biobed   
beside him. His counterparts were missing.  
"But I bet you already knew that," he said.  
  
***  
  
"Where are we?" Thomas asked.  
The Assassin did not reply. He stared at the darkness balefully.   
"He is a coward, killing us like this."  
Thomas shivered.  
The air was getting cold. If it was air around them, that is.   
Thomas wrapped his arms around himself.  
"Show yourself!" the Assassin demanded, whirling around.   
"Hey, I'm not in ta hurry to die," Thomas muttered, shivering   
harder.  
Then he saw something moving in the inky darkness. It was a   
distortion of the darkness. And it was getting closer.  
Thomas heard the Assassin gasp in pain beside him. He saw   
Jorel...no, it must be Lyssiss, holding the Assassin by the neck. And the   
alien slowly turned his yellow eyes to him.  
You will be next, the eyes seem to say.  
"No," he hissed. "I will not die like this!" he reached out.  
There was a flash of light.  
  
***   
  
"Oomph!" Thomas landed heavily on his side. For a moment, stars   
swam in his vision.  
He heard a groan that sounded like his. No, it was the   
Assassin's. He looked up to see the Captain offering her hand to help   
him up. Thomas took it.  
"Are you alright?" she demanded.  
"Yes," he answered as he got up, but his voice was shaking. It   
was close, too close.   
"You disappeared for a while. Then reappeared again. Care to tell   
me what happened?"  
"It was L-Lyississ," he stammered. Why was it so cold?  
"He was a coward!" the Assassin fumed at his side. Even now   
Security restrained him, placing him in shackles. They were not taking   
any chances with him at all.  
"He grows desperate," said a high and tremulous voice.  
The security personnel trained their phasers at the Obsidian   
skinned alien. Thomas froze.  
"Jorel..." Janeway said.  
"He tried to kill me," Jorel said. Her voice betrayed her   
distress and despair. But she did not dwell on that.  
"We must bring them to the Cargo Bay now and set the trap once   
more."  
  
  
_____________  
Chapter 12  
  
  
Lieutenant Tom Paris pitied worms. Because he understood now what   
it was like to hang from a hook while fish swam around you, waiting to   
eat you. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, really.  
Again, they were in the cargo bay. The Assassin standing on one   
side, armed to the hilt with goodness knows how many weapons. Thomas   
gave him a nervous look, clutching his canon phaser. He was afraid that   
he was rusty. After all, it had been almost five years since he held a   
weapon.  
Tom, on the other hand, hated to be the magnet that Lyssiss used   
to find these two.  
If they die, it's because I led Lyssis here!  
He gave Thomas a reassuring smile, which was returned with a   
hesitant one. Jorel had disappeared. Janeway and half the ship was   
hidden around the cargo bay area, waiting. Their nerves were strung   
tight.  
What makes them think that Lysiss will walk into this obvious   
trap?? Tom thought.  
  
Who would have thought I would have ended up here? Thomas   
thought to himself.  
He was afraid - he wasn't brave like the Lieutenant or the   
Assassin. He closed his eyes, thought about pleasant things like Peter   
Pan when he was about to fly.  
He thought about his father, how he sang to him while he tried to   
sleep. He had been eight then. He always did that - until his father's   
Captaincy took that away from him. Then it was those grey years, where   
he sang him to sleep again. And all Thomas could do was look at his   
father, his mind an empty husk.  
Then he felt the air around them dip into a chill.  
  
  
***  
  
Lyssiss knew that it was a trap, but he had to finish what he had   
begun. He saw the two that were denied him standing with the other of   
this dimension. It was too easy. He was where Jorel wanted him to be.  
In a flash, he sped towards the two Tom Parises. They saw him,   
crying out in words he did not bother to decipher. His hands reached   
out towards the frail hearts that beat beneath their chest. Their   
suffering would end here. Now!  
Then he crashed into a wall.  
It flung him across the cargo bay. He landed painfully on the   
wall and slid down. Furious, he glared at the three beings, feeling   
ashamed that he had not detected the shield in time. His limbs were   
resonating with pain, but he ignored it, lifting his hands to destroy   
the shield-  
"It's over, Lyssiss," Jorel said, appearing beside him. She   
knelt, looking at him plaintively with golden eyes. "Don't do this."  
"You have a shield around them," he accused.  
"To keep them from you," Jorel replied.  
"And to keep them trapped," he said. He acted immediately,   
drawing upon all his strength to summon what he needed and pointed at   
his targets.  
Jorel's eyes widened. "No! Don't do this!"  
  
  
"Oh-oh, that doesn't look good," the Lieutenant muttered.  
The Assassin could sense a battle coming his way. But how could   
the two others protect themselves - especially Thomas?  
Bright light burst again, but this time it was different. This   
time it brought along something.  
The creatures stood there for a moment, looking perplexed. They   
were seven feet tall, ugly bipedal creatures with yellow skulls for   
heads and sharp fangs that were three inches long. Their legs were bent   
like a kangaroo's, and muscles rippled on their yellow bodies. The   
three creatures snarled at them, clawing the air around them as if   
their claws could carve marks in the air.  
"Friends of yours?" the Lieutenant asked.  
The assassin wished he would shut up. Unnecessary banter wasted   
energy.  
The first creature struck-  
The assassin pulled out his laser-sword and activated it,   
catching the creature with a slash across its chest.  
The creature howled in pain, stumbling back to peer at its chest.  
The assasin's eyes widened in surprise. The creature should have   
been cleaved in half, but it stood there instead, with a light scratch   
across its wide chest. It snarled at him, bent and leapt-  
  
"Stop this Lyssiss!!" Jorel screamed. "You will kill this   
dimension's Tom Paris as well!"  
"Why are you stopping me?" Lyssiss said, his golden eyes burning   
with fury. "I am easing their pain!"  
Jorel turned to pull the creatures into their dimensions, but   
Lyssiss struck first, hurtling her across the cargo bay to land   
painfully on a stack of a barrels.  
A flurry of phaser fire rained on him. It was the Voyager crew.   
Lyssiss waved his hand dismissively. Captain Janeway and her retinue of   
Starfleet officers disappeared.  
Jorel, on the other hand, did not stop for a breath. She   
disappeared and reappeared at his side, gripping Lyssiss' hands.  
"Don't make me do this, Lyssiss!"  
  
  
"He won't survive with that puny sword!" Lieutenant Paris yelled.   
Thank goodness the Captain had given them weapons in case anything went   
wrong, which it had done in a spectacular way.  
Thomas fired at the creature coming towards it. Each blast seemed   
to irritate it more, and did nothing but push it back a little. With   
shaking hands, he set it to kill - and fired.  
This time in yowled in pain, stumbling a few steps back. Its   
chest had a small, yellow hole.  
"Way to go, Tom!" the Lieutenant yelled as he fired his own   
phaser.  
The creature leapt towards the Lieutenant and ignored the blasts,   
knocking the man down. It straddled him, hissing into his face.   
Lieutenant Paris struggled to get its weight off- Then the creature   
brought its claws down to impale him with them-  
And a blast blew it away.  
It shrieked in pain.  
Thomas held the phaser, knowing that that precious second he used   
to save the Lieutenant was enough to send the other one on him. And it   
did, knocking him flat to the ground.  
  
  
Jorel gripped Lyssiss' hands, staring into his eyes, but she saw   
only madness, not reason.  
"Everyone makes mistakes, Lyssiss. But you do not punish those   
that fail!"  
"They are in pain, Jorel! I'm easing them of their suffering!"  
"You want to ease *your* suffering. You want to erase your   
mistakes, not theirs! Again, don't make me do this Lyssiss!"  
Jorel could sense him gathering his strength for another strike.  
She had no choice.  
  
  
The weakness was in its hands!  
Bleeding from numerous cuts, the assassin leapt at the creature   
that pinned Thomas down. With two quick slashes, he lopped off the   
creatures hands. Yellow blood spurted out, staining his black shirt   
with filth.   
Then he was thrown across the area to land painfully on the force   
field.   
It stunned him for a while, but he gathered all his strength in a   
burst and reached for the dagger inside his shirt and rolled towards   
the creature, planting the dagger into its foot. It howled-  
But the assassin did not give it time. He reached for his fallen   
laser-sword and lopped off its feet.  
  
Thomas trembled violently, shocked by his near death. But he   
didn't give himself too much time to react. He pointed his phaser at   
the creature pinning the Lieutenant down. It hissed at him- and he   
pointed it at its mouth and fired.  
It shrieked, shuddered and fell.  
The Lieutenant gasped and tried to get up from beneath the   
corpse. Thomas helped him, dragging him from the creature.  
They looked up just in time to see the assassin stand on another   
monster - without hands or feet - and plunge the laser sword into its   
throat. It gurgled and lay still.  
But he was not out of danger.  
"Look out!" Thomas shouted. Another creature remained, it swung   
its claws-  
-and stabbed the assassin through the back and lifted him.  
The assassin gasped in pain, but his eyes were determined as he   
bent his knees and kicked himself away from the creature. As he fell   
from the monster, Thomas and Lieutenant Paris fired their phaser at the   
creature's wide-open mouth. Its head exploded, and it fell in a bloody   
heap.  
  
Thomas ran to the assassin, gently turning him over.  
He was pale, and blood trickled from the side of his mouth.   
"Just hang on, you're going to be alright."  
The assassin clutched his arm in a sudden fierce grip.  
"Promise me something...Tom!" he hissed.  
He nodded quickly, trying to push the man down on his back.   
"When you return, do the...right thing-" he closed his eyes in   
pain. "-do what I will never have the chance to...do. Tell Dad..." he   
gasped, then his eyes rolled into his head and he went limp.  
"He should've taken the phasers," the lieutenant said as he came   
to his side. "Is he dead?" he asked, breathing heavily.  
"No. But he's hurt bad," Thomas replied, shaken.  
"What did he say to you?"  
Thomas lay the assassin gently on the floor. "What I've always   
thought I should do," he said softly.  
  
  
When Lyssiss died, Janeway and her crew reappeared at the cargo   
bay area in time to see Jorel gazing down at a charred spot on the   
floor. Janeway also saw the Tom Parises - two looking bruised, another   
looking dead. They were surrounded by the bodies of huge, yellow   
creatures.  
"Doctor, three to transport to sickbay," she snapped.  
They were transported immediately.  
She walked to Jorel, anger accentuated in each step. It had been   
over in a matter of minutes. Or more, since they were removed from the   
area by Lyssiss.  
"You said they would be safe," she accused.  
"I am sorry. He did another grievous thing. He changed the   
creatures that served us."  
Janeway didn't want to know what she meant.  
Jorel looked at the creatures in revulsion. With a dismissive   
wave of her hand, the creatures disappeared along with their blood and   
gore.   
Janeway looked down at the charred spot. "And this is...was   
Lyssiss?"  
Jorel nodded. "He would not listen. There was nothing I could   
do."  
  
  
***  
Two days later.  
1835 hours.  
  
  
He caressed the console, marveling at its beauty. Hesitantly, he   
took his seat, adjusting himself a little as he leaned back to enjoy   
the view of stationery stars.  
He never thought he'd be behind the wheel of a starship. It   
filled with him with a sense of joy he didn't think he could feel once   
more.   
As he leaned forward to study the panel, he caught his reflection   
on its shiny surface. Funny, he realized that he had not seen how he   
looked since he woke up aware in sickbay almost two weeks ago. He   
touched his cheek, then ran his hand through his hair, which lay in   
unruly wavy locks slightly beneath his ears. He did not look at all   
like the lieutenant with his Starfleet standard haircut.  
Then again, he liked the hairstyle. Maybe he'd keep it.  
He studied the panel again. It was new; there were new additions   
to the console that he did not recognize. The ship was probably   
commissioned some time after his fall from grace.   
He touched the panel. It lit up, waiting for further   
instructions.  
Slowly, he entered the coordinates for the nearest star system.   
Then he slid his hand up the panel that controlled warp speed. His left   
hand turned in a circular motion on the panel that controlled the   
accelerator.   
Then his fingers were dancing on the panel nimbly. Joyously, it   
seemed - they had never forgotten the feel of a starship.   
"She's a beauty, isn't she?"  
Thomas turned to see Lieutenant Paris studying him, his arms   
folded, a grin on his face.  
"Intrepid class. Sustainable cruise velocity of warp factor   
9.975, 15 decks, bioneural circuitry," he said. For a while, the   
lieutenant seemed lost in thought. "A Lieutenant Stadi once told me   
that. I was being shuttled to Voyager, docked at Deep Space Nine. Back   
then, I was supposed to be just an `observer'. A man who peddled   
knowledge for his freedom."  
Lieutenant Paris sighed and leaned against the console, staring   
at the streaking stars.  
"I didn't think I would have the chance to come near this," he   
said, caressing the console.  
Thomas nodded, understanding. They were both pilots, in love with   
being above ground.   
"Ever thought of what you're going to do once you return?"   
Lieutenant Paris said after a moment of silence.  
Thomas thought for a while. "I think I'll buy a vineyard in   
France. Farming has always been an interest of mine," he said   
seriously.  
Lieutenant Paris stared at him uncertainly. Vineyards and   
piloting - it seemed miles away to the man.  
Thomas chuckled. "Of course, since I do not have a green thumb,   
and no interest in agriculture, that idea's scrap," he said.  
Lieutenant Paris chuckled along with him. "The old Paris humour,"   
he said. "Seriously, what would you do?"  
Thomas shrugged. "Seriously, never thought about it." He paused   
then touched the panel. "I miss this. Yeah... I do. But I won't return to   
Starfleet."  
Lieutenant Paris nodded.  
"Maybe I'll get my doctorate in Astrophysics," he grinned. "Dr.   
Paris - how does that sound?"  
Lieutenant Paris only smiled.  
"No," he shook his head. "I don't know what I'll do. But what I   
want to do is call Moira back from Deep Space whatever and tell her   
that it's about time that she joined us for our annual Paris family   
dinner - one that she had neglected for the past two years. And then   
maybe bring Mom and Dad together again," he gave Lieutenant Paris a   
pointed look.  
"Think about them often?" he asked.  
Paris looked uncomfortable. "Sure. Even spoke to Dad once. Well,   
actually, he spoke to me...my mouth was hanging open - I supposed that   
didn't count for speaking."  
He told Thomas that Voyager had received several messages from   
home these past few years. And that he wrote back...once or twice.   
"I don't know what I'll do if he calls again," he laughed   
suddenly. "Maybe I'll tell him I'm married just to give him a shock.   
Then lump in a `you're a grandfather' along with it," he chuckled.  
Thomas was surprised. He didn't know B'Elanna was pregnant.  
He flew through a nebula, then through an asteroid belt for a   
challenge. It felt euphoric, but his holodeck time was almost up - and   
it was time to return to sickbay, his home for the past few days. The   
Assassin was recovering well, asleep most of the time. The injuries had   
been serious, but the Doctor had healed him well.  
He wondered what would happen to the man. Despite what he did   
here - and his dimension, he found it difficult to dislike him. In a   
way, he understood why he did what he did.  
"Good luck, Tom Paris," he whispered to himself.  
  
  
  
  
***  
  
The one they called Assassin made a quick recovery while   
Lieutenant Paris returned to his duties on the bridge. After further   
evaluations from the Doctor, the Doctor declared Thomas fully   
recovered. And today, Jorel told her that they would return soon to   
their proper dimensions.  
Janeway joined Jorel at Astrometrics, wondering what stars she   
gazed at.  
Jorel smiled when she entered.  
"You are seeing us off, Kathryn?"  
Janeway smiled. "And when you take them back, what's going to   
happen to them?" Especially the assassin.   
Despite the fact that he had killed two of her crew members in cold   
blood, she couldn't help to feel concerned for him. His past was a   
carefully shrouded mystery - a mystery that was filled with so much   
pain that it drove him to kill.  
"They will live out their lives," Jorel answered evasively,   
giving her an amused smile.  
They gazed at the moving stars a while longer before Janeway   
couldn't stand it anymore.   
"Why did you allow Tom to be healed? I never understood that. Why   
break a rule for one person? You could do the same for many. And you   
made it clear that you wouldn't. But why Tom?"  
Jorel gave Janeway a small smile.  
"Because...in a small way, I would be saving Lyssiss," she said in   
a small voice.  
Janeway frowned. "I don't understand," she said.  
Jorel sighed, gazing into the stars. "Lyssiss was the son of my   
teacher. I in turn, became his teacher...and one day, while probing the   
dimensions, he destroyed one in a fit of rage."  
Jorel did not bother explaining that. Instead, she looked down at   
her feet. "He was taken away from his post, and his father never   
forgave him for his crime. It haunted him, and eventually he could not   
take any reminders of his failures...he couldn't see those who failed   
because it reminded him of his own failure," she paused and looked at   
her pointedly.  
"There are so many dimensions out there, Kathryn. Some so   
similar. Others so different they seemed like night and day. But there   
will always be a similarity between all these dimensions. With Tom   
Paris, it is always the same. He will commit a grave mistake, but   
whether he takes the path to retribution or damnation is another   
matter."  
Janeway's quick mind grasped Jorel's double meaning, but she   
could not believe it. It sounded too astounding.  
"Lyssiss...is another alternate version of Tom Paris?"  
Jorel nodded. "And in many ways, Kathryn. You are *me*."  
Janeway took a step back, amazed.  
"We always bend the rules - all the Kathryns in the dimensions,"   
Jorel laughed. "And although in my dimension, humans have evolved   
beyond anything you are familiar with, we share a common destiny. To   
boldly go where no one has gone before."  
Jorel smiled and disappeared. Janeway knew then that the Assassin   
and Thomas were gone. She stared at the stars for a while afterwards,   
wondering what destiny lay ahead for them.  
  
  
________________  
Epilogue  
  
  
  
The smell of fresh flowers. Tulips in spring. The sound of birds   
chirping. They were all vivid now, not dull echoes heard from a damaged   
brain.  
Tom Paris looked at the spot where the lake had been, saddened by   
its disappearance, and feeling worse at the thought that his mother had   
done this.  
Something wet and cold touched his hand. He looked down and saw a   
Golden Retriever grinning up at him, wagging its tail furiously.  
"Hey, Buster. Was I gone long?"  
The dog grinned and wagged its tail more furiously.  
But I was gone, he thought, closing his eyes and taking a deep   
breath of the fresh, spring air. Two years, a living shadow of what I   
was. And now, I have a second chance. A second chance to do the right   
thing.  
"Tom?! Tom! Where are you?"  
His father's voice made his heart hammer with nervousness and   
excitement.  
He could see Owen Paris running, looking around him desperately   
while calling out his name.  
He knew he should call out and tell his dad he was safe, but he   
didn't seem to have the nerve. The old familiar intimidation he felt   
for his father returned. But Tom tried to focus on the other admiral -   
the admiral that, in his hazy, dream-like recollections, fed him when   
he could barely pick up a spoon; who handed him his favourite   
sandwiches in a tender voice, and who had held him in his arms when he   
cried from nightmares.  
Owen finally saw him, and his anxious face broke into relief. He   
ran to him, breathing hard when he reached his side.  
"For a moment, I thought...doesn't matter what I thought." Owen   
Paris patted his shoulder. "Just don't scare me like that anymore,   
would you? Are you all right? Did the light scare you? Come inside," he   
took his hand, to guide him to the house.  
Tom pulled away uncertainly, feeling lost.  
Owen looked bad, his face concerned. "Damn it, it scared you,   
didn't it? Don't worry, Tom. Kathleen will be back, and she will make   
you feel better," Owen said gently.  
Tom shivered, feeling the pull of too many emotions. To him, it   
was only yesterday that he barely spoke to his father, and an   
unbridgeable gulf stood between them. And it was difficult to bridge   
that distance even now, but he had to try.  
"Come on, Buster," Owen called. The dog followed eagerly, heading   
towards the house. Tom faintly remembered that this was a common trick   
Owen used to get his son to follow him.  
"Dad!" he called out in the strongest voice he could muster.  
Owen froze in his tracks, then swung around. Disbelief coloured   
his features. The grey eyes held such painful hope that Tom felt guilty   
for causing it. He had to say it now, or not he would loose his nerve.  
"I'm..." he hesitated, then walked towards his father slowly. "I'm   
sorry, Dad," he finally said when he reached his father. "I'm sorry for   
the years of silence. I'm sorry for...the words I've said. I didn't mean   
them. I...I miss you, Dad," his voice trembled, and he felt overwhelmed   
as he looked into the grey eyes.   
Silence stretched between them. Tom felt desperate for Owen to   
say anything.   
"Aren't you going to say something, Dad?" he blurted out in   
desperation.  
Owen grabbed him suddenly, wrapping his arms around him in a   
vise-like hug. Tom realized that his father, the stern-faced Admiral   
that told him that crying was a weakness - was crying.  
"What are you talking about, Son?" Owen whispered tearfully as he   
pulled away to looked into his eyes. "*I* was the one who left you."  
The older man studied him for a long time, and he looked afraid -   
perhaps afraid that his son, who seemed so normal - was a dream.   
"I love you, Tom. And I've missed you so much," he finally said.  
Tom blinked back tears and smiled, returning his father's hug.  
He knew that they had finally crossed the bridge that divided   
them.  
  
  
On top of the steep hill that once overlooked the lake, the   
assassin looked as the father placed his arm around his son   
protectively and walked them to the house.  
"His sudden recovery will be questioned," he said.  
Jorel merely smiled.  
"They will call it a miracle," she turned her golden eyes towards   
his. Tom did not acknowledge her answer.  
"Where will your redemption come from, Tom Paris?"  
He did not react to her piercing question. The cool spring breeze   
whipped his long blond hair so that it obscured his vision for a   
moment. But he only remembered his wife, his dead son, the father he   
nearly killed...and the life he abandoned.  
"There will be no retribution for the likes of me. I only need to   
return home," he said flatly.  
Jorel smiled, as if she was privy to a delightful secret. "Then   
you shall return home."  
He stared at the departing figures until they disappeared from   
his vision.  
  
************  
THE END  
(C)Lanna 13 June 2001  
Like it? Hate it? Give me a buzz! E-mail me at liztai@hotmail.com I   
live for feedback!  
More stories at Voyager Adventure Logs: http://www.geocities.com/lanna2.geo  
  
  
  



End file.
